Residents of Alexandria, Va. can honor an American hero with a tip of their hats to Francis C. Hammond Middle School on Seminary Road this Friday. It was 62 years ago on Friday when that school’s namesake, a young Alexandria man, performed “great personal valor in the face of overwhelming odds” while taking care of wounded members of the 1st Marine Division in South Korea.

Hammond was born Nov. 9, 1931 to Harry and Elvira Hammond, in Alexandria, Va. Harry worked at a pharmacy, and after high school Francis joined him, planning to become a pharmacist.

Then, on June 25, 1950, North Korea invaded South Korea. The United Nations Security Council called the invasion a “breach of peace” and President Harry S. Truman quickly committed American troops to a combined United Nations force to defend the 38th parallel.

Francis decided to enlist, joining the Navy. First, he headed off to the Navy’s Hospital Corps School in Great Lakes, Ill. Once a medic, he proceeded to California for more training. Anticipating he would be sent to Korea, Francis married his girlfriend in June 1952. The following year, Feb. 1, Hospital Corpsman 3rd Class Hammond was assigned to the 1st Marine Division in South Korea.

On the night of March 26, Hammond and the 1st Marines were trying to retake Combat Outpost Reno, which the North Koreans had overrun earlier that day. The Marines encountered heavy mortar and artillery fire as they neared the outpost.

“We kept going forward and finally gained posts in a small shallow trench,” said Marine Sgt. William R. Janzen from a series of articles collected by B.J. Sullivan a librarian at the school which bears Hammond’s name.

Undeterred and undaunted by the mortar and artillery fire, Hammond got to work.

“He was all over the place patching up the wounded, no matter how slight their wounds,” Janzen remembered. “Even after he himself was wounded he continued moving about the area, ignoring his own wounds, and giving as much aid and comfort to the other wounded as he possibly could under the circumstances.

“The bravest man I saw out there that night was Corpsman Hammond.”

As a relief unit showed up, Hammond’s division was ordered to pull back. Hammond refused. According to the Virginia War Memorial’s website, “[he] did not want to leave his men, so he stayed behind to help evacuate the wounded, refusing care for himself. While assisting the units relieving them, [Hammond] was mortally wounded by enemy mortar fire.”

Four months later, an armistice would end the conflict.

For his actions, Hammond posthumously received the Purple Heart and the Medal of Honor. His Medal of Honor citation concludes, “By his exceptional fortitude, inspiring initiative and self-sacrificing efforts, HC Hammond undoubtedly saved the lives of many Marines. His great personal valor in the face of overwhelming odds enhances and sustains the finest traditions of the U.S. Naval Service. He gallantly gave his life for his country.”

In his honor, the Navy commissioned a frigate named for him on July 25, 1970, the USS Francis Hammond (FF 1067). She served her country until decommissioned in July 2, 1992.

The Francis C. Hammond High School was named for the Medal of Honor recipient in 1956. It became a middle school in the 1970s.

The Francis C. Hammond High School, which opened in 1956, was named in his honor. Now a middle school, “the school crest (donated by the Class of ‘62) still graces the floor of Hammond’s central hall with the motto ‘Vivat Academia’ (Long live Academics) and is protected by four sparkling brass 3-inch .50 caliber ammunition shells (simulated) donated by the U.S. Naval Weapons Laboratory, Dahlgren, Virginia,” according to a city of Alexandria website. There is also the Francis Hammond Parkway, a street in Alexandria lined with tidy brick homes.

Hospital Corpsman 3rd Class Francis C. Hammond never saw the middle school named in his honor. But no doubt another legacy Hammond would leave behind — Francis C. Hammond Jr., born a few months after his father’s death – would see the school named for his father’s selfless action.

Ninety-eight years ago today, the Navy deployed a new technology on USS New Mexico (BB 40) that was then hailed as one of the most important achievements of the scientific age: the turboelectric drive. Before this major event, ships used a direct-drive steam turbine, which started with the HMS Dreadnought. Direct drive turbines were very efficient at faster speeds, but at slow speeds they wasted energy when the propeller turned too quickly, causing cavitation. Since the average underway speed of battleships was under 15 knots, this proved to be an issue.

Photographed from an airplane, while steaming in line with other battleships, 13 April 1919. Note S.E.5A airplane atop the flying-off platform atop the battleship’s second turret. (Naval History and Heritage Command Photograph)

The newly designed turboelectric drive used only one turbine, and rather than driving the propeller shaft, it turned one or two electric generators. The electricity was then routed to electric motors mounted to the propeller shaft heads. Using this method, the turbine would turn at a constant, highly efficient rotation rate, while the electric motors would turn at the most efficient speed to turn the propellers. For full backing power, the electric motors were simply reversed, which eliminated the need for several pieces of equipment and steam piping.

The decision to install the turboelectric drive proved more economical, fuel efficient, and helped improve maneuverability. This innovative technology gave USS New Mexico a strategic advantage over her sister ships, and the nickname, “The Electric Ship.” USS New Mexico would ultimately become the flagship of the newly-organized Pacific Fleet, and an essential part of the war effort during World War II.

The Navy continues to drive toward new technologies that increase combat capability. Over the past six years, with the commissioning of USS Makin Island (LHD 8) in 2009 and USS America (LHA 6) in 2014, the Navy included auxiliary propulsion systems (APSs) on our newest amphibious platforms in addition to the main gas turbine engines. Ships equipped with APS use less fuel at slower speeds, which represents the majority of time amphibious ships operate. During slow speed operations, the APS draws electrical power generated from the ship’s service generators, which are used for HVAC systems, lighting, combat control systems, etc., to assume the full propulsion load. This greatly increases fuel efficiency by being able to shut down the gas turbines engines, which are efficient at high speeds, but inefficient at slow speeds. This can allow the ship to remain on station longer, extend the time between refueling, or transit greater distances which directly increases the ship’s ability to respond in times of combat or crisis.

PHILIPPINE SEA (Oct. 22, 2014) The amphibious assault ship USS Peleliu (LHA 5) is underway as part of the Peleliu Amphibious Ready Group and is conducting joint forces exercises in the U.S. 7th Fleet area of responsibility. (U.S. Navy Photo by Mass Communication Specialist 1st Class Joshua Hammond/Released)

The next generation of energy efficient propulsion is the Hybrid Electric Drive Electric Propulsion System (HED EPS), which is planned to be installed on Arleigh Burke (DDG 51) Class Flight IIA ships. HED EPS attaches an electric motor to the propulsion plant to enable the ship to draw power from the ship’s electric generators and shut down main propulsion engines. Similar to the USS Makin Island and USS America, using the ship’s electrical power for propulsion at slower speeds can save tremendous amounts of fuel. For example, using HED EPS 50% of the time can increase time on station by as much as two-and-a-half days between refueling, which can provide extra time at on station or greater endurance when the ship’s Captain and crew may need it most.

The Navy continues to explore an array of technological innovations to our energy challenges. Some examples include upgrading to solid state (LED) lighting aboard ships to improve Sailor’s working conditions and reduce energy consumption; using stern flaps to improve fuel economy; and using anti-fouling coatings to minimize hull drag. We’re also working to integrate energy awareness into our training pipeline, and implementing best practices that capitalize on lessons learned from technical experts and our deckplate Sailors.

Looking forward, we’re turning towards more innovative ways to manage power on our ships. For example, DDG 1000, which is the Navy’s newest class of “Electric Ship” generates and stores electrical power using a common system, which is then used to distribute power throughout the ship for all its energy needs, including propulsion, heating and cooling, combat systems, and weapons. This type of capability is not only more efficient, but it’s essential to support the high energy weapons Navy is currently fielding, such as the laser weapon and electromagnetic railgun.

By Holly Quick, public affairs specialist, Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

Every March during Women’s History Month we commemorate the diverse contributions women have made, and continue to make, to our nation and our military. This March also marks the Centennial of the Navy Reserve and it would be remiss not to celebrate the contributions of Chief Yeoman (F) Loretta P. Walsh, the first woman enrolled in the Naval Reserve Force, and the women who joined her in support of the First World War.

In March 1917, as the United States was reaching the final decision to enter World War I, the Navy’s need for clerical assistance was far greater than had been anticipated. Shore stations, whose activities had been increased by the preparation for war, were asking for assistance.

Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels consulted with his legal advisers and discovered just because women had never served in the Naval Reserve as yeomen didn’t mean it was prohibited by law.

“Then enroll women in the Naval Reserve as yeomen,” said Daniels, “and we will have the best clerical assistance the country can provide.”

On March 19, 1917, the Navy Department authorized the enrollment of women in the Naval Reserve. Women served under Class 4, the Naval Coast Defense Reserve, of the 1916 United States Naval Reserve Force, which included members who were capable of performing special useful service in the Navy or in connection with the Navy in defense of the coast.

The circular from the Bureau of Navigation stated:

“The Bureau authorizes the enrollment of women in the Naval Coast Defense Reserve in the ratings of yeoman, electrician (radio), or in such other ratings as the commandant may consider essential to the district organizations.”

World War I Navy “Yeoman (F)” women lined up outdoors, with what might be the Washington Monument behind them, national mall, Washington, D.C. Photo courtesy of Library of Congress.

On March 21, 1917, two years after the Naval Reserve was established, and two days after women were authorized to enroll in the Navy, Walsh enlisted in the Naval Reserve as a Chief Yeoman. By the time the U.S. joined its allies to fight in World War I on April 6, 200 women had joined her.

To distinguish these women from their male counterparts the Navy established the rate of Yeoman (F), though they were also known as “Yeomanettes” or “Yeowomen.” Men and women in the same rank earned equal pay, something that was unheard of in the civilian sector. However, unlike their male counterparts, the highest rank a Yeoman (F) could reach was that of chief petty officer.

At the signing of the armistice between the Allies and Germany on Nov. 11, 1918, a total of 11,275 Yeomen (F) had served in the Navy. All Yeomen (F) were released from active duty by July 31, 1919, and to them Secretary Daniels sent the following message:

“It is with deep gratitude for the splendid service rendered by the Yeomen (F) during our national emergency that I convey to them the sincere appreciation of the Navy Department for their patriotic cooperation.”

In Naples harbor, Italy, in August 1944, just prior to the Invasion of Southern France. Courtesy of Rear Admiral John D. Bulkeley, USN. U.S. Naval Historical Center Photograph.

From Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

If you were intrigued last week by Lt. John D. “Sea Wolf” Bulkeley’s daring journey to drive his PT boat 600 miles in unchartered waters, through minefields and dodging Japanese patrol boats to get General Douglas MacArthur to safety, then you’re in luck today; there is more to his story. The commander of Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron Three was no one-hit wonder when it came to World War II heroics.

Bulkeley’s exploits didn’t end in the Pacific Theater. By June 6, 1944, Lt. Cmdr. Bulkeley was commanding officer of the PT squadrons protecting the Normandy Invasion fleet from attacks by E-boats, the German version of Bulkeley’s own PT boats.

Photo of Lt. Cmdr. John D. Bulkeley dated dated Sept. 4, 1942. Official U.S. Navy Photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives.

During an interview with CBS journalist Charles Collingwood on July 3, 1944, Bulkeley explained his squadron protected minesweepers that cleared the path for the invading fleet of warships and landing craft of Operation Overlord. His PT boats were among the first to enter Cherbourg harbor, “but we didn’t stay long,” he quipped.

The PT boats were being used to draw fire from a shore battery that was holding out. Sure enough, they drew fire and just as surely, they it. When they returned the following day, there was a white flag on the fort.

Bulkeley shrugged off the interviewer’s concern about mines and having officers of high rank onboard. “Well, we’re used to mines and to high rank. We had the King of England aboard this ship (his flagship PT 517) not so long ago (the day before the invasion). … He asked me how I got along with the British. I told him I was getting along fine. In fact, five years ago, I married a British girl.”

When Collingwood asked Bulkeley which campaign was tougher, the Pacific or European theaters, Bulkeley explained it was the Pacific. “Over here (Europe) you don’t have mosquitos, malaria and rain. You have short distances to run. Only six hours of darkness right now, and you are fighting the Germans and not the [Japanese]. With the [Japanese], you know if you meet them, that it is a battle to the death. They don’t run away, and you know that if you are sunk, they will leave you to drown or try to kill you in the water. And then if you are lucky enough to reach land, they’ll kill you on the land. Over here, there is still some decency to war, if war ever can be decent.”

In mid-July, just 38 days after the Invasion of Normandy, he was given the command of destroyer Endicott (DD 495). The destroyer would be part of a ruse in appearing to invade La Ciotat to draw two German divisions from St. Tropez. The destroyer fired 3,000 rounds continuously over two nights, Bulkeley recalled in a Proceedings Magazine article in August 1994. The diversion worked. When Gen. Mark Clark landed his troops where the real assault took place in Southern France for Operation Dragoon on Aug. 15, 1944, he lost only one soldier who stepped on a mine.

Pictured from left to right: Lt. Cmdr. Douglas Fairbanks Jr., USNR, Commander of the Special Operations Group’s Eastern Diversionary Unit, Capt. Henry C. Johnson, commander Special Operations Group and Lt. Cmdr. John D. Bulkeley, commanding officer of USS Endicott (DD 495) on the destroyer’s bridge during the Southern France Operation in August 1944. Courtesy of Rear Adm. John D. Bulkeley Naval History and Heritage Command photograph NH 54383

Following the operation, Bulkeley was sent to Sicily for repairs to Endicott. Along the way, he heard two German gunboats were attacking two British ships, the Scarab and Aphis. “They were river gunboats built for China duty, and they had very little fire control. Their guns were small and their speed was not more than 8 or 12 knots,” he said.

Bulkeley turned his ship around immediately to provide assistance. “We soon saw huge clouds of black smoke, which looked almost as though some ships were on fire. I didn’t know what was on the other side, so I crashed on through.”

The British ships were in retreat, followed by the German corvettes Nimet Allah and Capriolo going 28-30 knots, Bulkeley recalled. Endicott was cruising at 36 knots.

“When you run into the enemy, you’ve got to attack, no question about it,” he said.

Unfortunately for Bulkeley, some of his guns had overheated during the heavy bombardment at La Ciotat and the breaches weren’t closing. There was only one gun working at mount three, and the gunner’s mate first class was pumping the shells in by hand and using a sledgehammer to close the breach.

With one gun blazing at two German ships armed with 5-inch guns, the Endicott zigg and zagged toward her targets. “We swept the decks with the 40-mm and 20-mm gunfire,” Bulkeley said. “By this time, we had closed to within 800 yards, and our 5-inch guns were scoring some hits. One of the ships capsized and the other sank later on.”

With the fight over, Endicott picked up 179 German survivors, giving them medical treatment.

Sketch by Radioman 2nd Class Grantier, depicting Lt. Cmdr. Bulkeley photographing the sinking of the German corvette Nimet Allah by Endicott during the Southern France Operation, Aug. 17, 1944. He is using a 35mm camera. Courtesy of Rear Admiral John D. Bulkeley, USN. U.S. Naval Historical Center Photograph.

Bulkeley would later serve on cruisers and a battleship, but he remained loyal to the needs of smaller craft, such as the Cyclone (PC 1) class most of which are still in service today.

“These boats are far more sophisticated,” he said of the PCs in the 1994 interview. “They are more capable, have more firepower, and are more deadly than I ever even envisioned in my PT boats. There’s a future for them all right.”

Those ships remain in service today and are an important part of the Navy’s presence in the U.S. Fifth Fleet area of responsibility.

This day in 1964, our Navy commissioned USS Sacramento (AOE 1) at Seattle, Washington. She was the first ship that combined the characteristics of an oiler, ammunition and supply ship. Anyone familiar with the current class of fast combat support ships can see the enduring value of fast, one-stop shopping for our combatant vessels at sea.

Today’s Navy still puts a premium on the innovative design and use of new ship platforms, but it’s no secret that we operate in a tough fiscal environment. Budget realities mean leaders must provide the best possible bang for our nation’s buck while still meeting emergent requirements worldwide. As Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Jonathan Greenert outlined in his Sailing Directions, our number one priority is warfighting.

Military Sealift Command is a strong enabler for Navy and Marine Corps warfighting and this innovation mindset. In particular, the Afloat Forward Staging Base (AFSB) platform represents one centerpiece of the seabasing concept that will permit our forces to operate away from the shore, ultimately supporting special forces missions, counter-piracy/smuggling operations, maritime security operations and mine clearance, as well as humanitarian aid and disaster relief missions.

The Afloat Forward Staging Base (Interim) USS Ponce (ASB(I) 15) conducts an operational demonstration of the Office of Naval Research (ONR)-sponsored Laser Weapon System (LaWS) while deployed to the Arabian Gulf. (U.S. Navy photo by John F. Williams/Released)

Keeping with MSC’s emphasis on innovation, in early 2012, MSC converted USS Ponce from an amphibious transport dock ship to an AFSB-I (Interim) that deployed to U.S. 5th Fleet roughly six months after work began. Ponce’s work in the region – which included acting as a base for mine-sweeping MH-53E Sea Dragons in the Persian Gulf as well as serving as a test bed for the deployment of the Navy’s new Laser Weapon System – continues to the present. The ship’s success is a terrific example of looking beyond a ship’s original design to leverage new capabilities.

The recently christened USNS Lewis B. Puller, expected to deliver later this year, is the first of three permanent vessels specifically designed as AFSBs and are built on the same hull as our new mobile landing platforms. Together, with several other vessels that MSC operates, Puller will give the Navy and Marine Corps team fresh, forward-based options for these critical missions.

To be sure, Puller and its sister AFSBs are no replacement for amphibious warships. They are intended for relatively secure maritime environments, where they can perform tasks that free up amphibious ships for their intended purpose – high-end warfighting.

Despite this caveat, Puller is an impressive at-sea home for warfighters and their equipment. Our Navy and Marine Corps demand innovative, cost-effective platforms like Puller. MSC will continue to provide the proven, expert operation of these vessels so warfighters can do their jobs.

Lt. John D. Bulkeley, photographed while on board a Motor Torpedo Boat (PT), circa 1942. Official U.S. Navy Photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives.

From Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

Seventy-three years ago, Lt. John D. Bulkeley, the commander of Patrol Torpedo Boat No. 41, waited at the north pier off the island of Corregidor for the words that would begin a harrowing 2-day journey through minefields, unchartered waters and a Japanese fleet on the prowl.

“You may cast off, Buck, when you are ready.”

With those words spoken by American General of the Army Gen. Douglas MacArthur, Bulkeley, commanding officer of Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron Three, pulled away at 7:45 p.m. March 11, 1942, into what was becoming increasingly a misty and moonless night.

Japanese forces had gained a stronghold in the Philippines, and they were closing in on the island that housed MacArthur, his family and staff, plus an additional 14,000 military and civilian personnel, including Gen. Jonathan Wainwright. MacArthur wanted to stay and fight, but President Franklin D. Roosevelt ordered MacArthur off the island to prevent his capture, which would be demoralizing to the nation still recovering from the shock of the attack at Pearl Harbor and then the surrender at Wake Island.

Sources may argue when and why MacArthur agreed to have his small staff and family travel by PT boats across close to 600 miles of ocean dotted with reefs, through a harbor strewn with mines and a dragnet of prowling Japanese ships. Initially, plans were to have MacArthur spirited away in the submarine USS Permit (SS 178) or flown out by PBY flying boats.

Those plans may have been scrapped due to MacArthur’s claustrophobic tendencies, or that he had never flown before, not to mention the problems Catalinas had landing at Corregidor.

But no one questioned MacArthur’s belief and trust in Lt. John D. ‘Sea Wolf’ Bulkeley.

MacArthur and Bulkeley were already stationed at Corregidor before the war began. MacArthur had a soft spot for the small, swift patrol torpedo (PT) boats. He had even recommended the Navy Department add something similar to their fleet of ships as defensive weapons in the mid-1930s. The Navy was not impressed. MacArthur never forgot the snub.

So when MacArthur was appointed to defend the Philippines, he took a special interest in PT boat operations and required the squadron commander to report directly to him each day in person.

As MacArthur weighed the options – by sea or by air – the general chose the risky option of traveling above the water by PT boat, trusting his fate in the hands of the lieutenant he called a “bold buckaroo with the cold green eyes.”

It was hardly the easiest option. To make the distance, the PT boats would need to carry drums of gasoline on their decks that could easily be struck by a stray bullet or shrapnel. After being loaded down with an additional three tons of fuel, the boat’s main advantage, its speed, would be reduced to 30 knots. The boats themselves had no radar and only a few areas of the ocean had been mapped.

Bulkeley himself was lobbied hard during the days leading up to the departure. Thinking MacArthur would no doubt take the submarine, some of the remaining officers wooed Bulkekey as to when and where he might pick up them and their families to get them “out of Dodge” before the Japanese set foot on the island. Bulkeley made no effort to dissuade them since MacArthur’s departure was kept secret.

MacArthur had already told Wainwright he would be left behind with dwindling supplies and facing the full brunt of the Japanese forces. He promised upon his return to Corregidor he would promote Wainwright to lieutenant general. Wainwright promised if he was still alive, he would be there when MacArthur returned. Only one could keep their promise.

On the evening of the departure, however, the gig was up as MacArthur’s chosen chariot proved to be Bulkeley’s squadron. More than 15 of MacArthur’s staff were ferried to Bataan where they loaded onto PT boats 32, 34 and 35. So it was just MacArthur, his wife, Jean, 4-year-old son Arthur 32 35and his nanny, his aide Lt. Col. Sidney Huff and three other staffers who left from Corregidor.

After Bulkeley’s PT 41 caught up with the other three, they traversed a mine-laden harbor in single file before speeding through the choppy waters. It didn’t take long for the Army and civilian personnel to feel the effects of what the Navy men called “moderate” seas, which only worsened during the tripmarked by occasional squalls. Nearly all were violently seasick, including MacArthur, who stated in his 1964 book “Reminiscences: General of the Army,” that being on the PT boat was “what it must be like to take a trip in a concrete mixer.”

The only passenger who seemed not to mind was an air corps captain, oblivious to motion sickness, who slept soundly, snoring in his bunk, during the trip.

The trip took its toll on the Navy men of Squadron Three. With no maps and virtually no light, the boats became separated. PT 34 arrived first at the planned rendezvous point at Tagauayan Island. When PT 32’s operator saw a ship in the distance, he thought it was a Japanese destroyer and jettisoned fuel to increase the speed of the boat, only to find out the silhouette he saw was PT 41 with a couple of passengers standing. Attempts to collect the jettisoned fuel became futile, so PT 41 and PT 32 continued to the rendezvous point to find PT 34. But there was no sign of PT 35.

With only two good engines and little fuel, the passengers on PT 32 were divided between PT 41 and 34 which headed for their destination. The crew of PT 32 stayed behind to wait for the submarine Permit. Which was lucky for the crew of PT 35 – they finally arrived at Tagauayan Island and were told by the PT 32 crew that the other two PT boats had already left for their destination, so PT 35 followed.

Bulkeley’s crew had no easier time with it, even with their skipper handling the navigation. With no sleep in more than 48 hours, one crew member fainted while at the wheel, and another was found dozing while standing up in gale-force winds.

Bulkeley and his second-in-command, Lt. Robert Kelly, when they weren’t slicing through stormy seas, now faced a daylight dash through the Mindanao Sea, narrowly missing detection by one apparently inattentive Japanese warship. MacArthur had wanted to press on, fearing he would miss the awaiting B-17s at Cagayan that would take him to Australia. He had no way to know the planes would be delayed three days.

Upon his arrival at Cagayan, a shaky MacArthur voiced his appreciation for Squadron Three’s daring voyage.

“You’ve taken me out of the jaws of death and I won’t forget it,” MacArthur vowed.

A few hours later, PT 35 would arrive, completing the mission with all aboard. The sub Permit picked up the remaining 32 crew members, although the boat was sunk rather than leaving it for the Japanese. Bulkeley, not knowing the fate of PT 32, spent several hours in planes searching for his missing crew.

MacArthur, in the meantime, was aghast at the Flying Fortress that landed with damaged turbo superchargers and faulty brakes, bullet holes patched by ration cans and piloted by a 24-year-old and youthful-looking Lt. Harl Pease. He rejected the plane stating no way would he put his family and staff on “that broken down crate with a boy at the controls.”

While waiting for another plane, MacArthur would have one more request for his “buckaroo.” He tasked Bulkeley with evacuating Philippine President Manuel Quezon from his location on the island of Negros. Quezon, sick from tuberculous, was tired of his homeland being fought over by the Americans and Japanese, and entertained the thought of going neutral so both warring factions would leave. MacArthur did not want that to happen. So Bulkeley was told to fetch him “by any means necessary.”

Quezon at first resisted the notion of leaving the Philippines. In George W. Smith’s 2005 book “MacArthur’s Escape: John ‘Wild Man’ Bulkeley and the Rescue of an American Hero,” there is a passage that might explain Quezon’s reluctance in following the “reincarnated pirate” who stood before him on March 18.

“The skipper wore no uniform, only an old oilskin. His boots were mud-caked, and his unruly black beard and longish hair tied around his head with a bandanna gave him a menacing appearance. Embellishing that sinister look, Bulkeley strode around with a tommy gun, two pearl-handled pistols strapped to his waist, and a nasty-looking knife tucked ominously in his belt.”

Eventually, Quezon agreed to leave, so Bulkeley whisked the Philippine president, his family and staff back to the safety of Mindanao.

Lt. Cmdr. John D. Bulkeley Receives the Medal of Honor from President Franklin D. Roosevelt, circa July 1942. Bulkeley was awarded the medal for heroism while he commanded Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron Three during the Philippines Campaign, December 1941 – April 1942. Naval History and Heritage Command Photograph.

MacArthur made good on his promise to not forget “Sea Wolf” Bulkeley. He nominated the lieutenant for the Medal of Honor, which he received for his actions between Dec. 7, 1941 and April 10, 1942 as commanding officer of Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron Three. Not one to rest of his laurels, Bulkeley continued to make his imprint on the Navy, earning the rank of vice-admiral over the course of a 55-year career. Along the way, he also earned the Navy Cross, the Distinguished Service Medal, the Silver Star Medal (Army) with Gold Star in lieu of the Second Silver Star Medal (Navy), the Legion of Merit with Combat “V”, the Army Distinguished Service Cross with Oak Leaf Cluster, the Purple Heart Medal, Army Distinguished Unit Emblem, and the French and Philippine Decorations. Other awards included the China Service Medal with bronze star; the American Defense Service Medal, Fleet Clasp; the Asiatic-Pacific Campaign Medal; American Campaign Medal; European-African-Middle Eastern Campaign Medal; World War II Victory Medal; National Defense Service Medal with bronze star; Korean Service Medal; United Nations Service Medal; the Korean Presidential Unit Citation Badge; and the Philippine Defense Ribbon. He also had the Expert Pistol Shot Medal and Expert Rifleman Medal.

The general would return to the Philippines as promised Oct. 20, 1944. But MacArthur would not find Gen. Jonathan Wainwright there. Those left behind on Corregidor, after living at near starvation levels and unable to fight off the Japanese, had surrendered May 6, 1942. The military and civilians not killed outright were taken as prisoners of war and worked in Japanese work camps. Wainwright, the highest-ranking American POW, survived his three years in captivity where he was often brutalized by the Japanese. MacArthur and Wainwright would meet finally after the Japanese agreed to surrender Aug. 19. MacArthur asked Wainwright to stand next to him during the formal Japanese surrender ceremony Sept. 2, 1945 on USS Missouri, and gave him the pen he used to sign the document.

One final note of interest. Remember baby-faced pilot Lt. Harl Pease? He turned 25 a few days after MacArthur rejected his patched-up B-17 and he, too, would earn a Medal of Honor for “conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty” in action with the enemy Aug. 6-7, 1942. Even though he was not scheduled to take part in a bombing mission to Rabaul, New Britain, Pease prepared the most serviceable airplane at the base for combat, declared unusable for other combat missions. Despite being intercepted by 30 enemy fighter aircraft before reaching his target, Pease and his crew were successful in destroying several Zeros before dropping his bombs on the intended target. Upon his return, enemy pursuit aircraft shot down his plane. Pease and a crew member bailed out, but were captured by the Japanese. On Oct. 8, 1942, they were forced to dig their own graves and beheaded. MacArthur endorsed Pease’s nomination for the Medal of Honor, which was presented posthumously to Pease’s father.

]]>http://www.navalhistory.org/2015/03/11/sea-wolf-bulkeleys-daring-journey-earns-medal-of-honor/feed0On the Eve of Peace, the War Still Rageshttp://www.navalhistory.org/2015/03/10/on-the-eve-of-peace-the-war-still-rages
http://www.navalhistory.org/2015/03/10/on-the-eve-of-peace-the-war-still-rages#commentsTue, 10 Mar 2015 22:47:28 +0000http://www.navalhistory.org/?p=10103

Alliance under sail, in a painting by Nowland Van Powell, courtesy of the Bruce Gallery, Memphis, Tenn. (NH 92873-KN)

After a long struggle for independence, the United States of America succeeded in its break from Great Britain. Suffering several more defeats following the British surrender at Yorktown in October 1781, British Parliament agreed in April 1782 to cease offensive operations against their soon-to-be ex-colony and peace negotiations began. Both sides saw no point in fighting, and an armistice was struck but an official end to the war was still more than a year away.

So for some, the Revolutionary War continued.

Especially since at the time, information took a bit longer to cross the Atlantic pond than today. As word of the cease fire spread, the battlespace of the war slowly shrunk. Cities and major battlefields got the word early. Those fighting in out-of-the-way, off-the-main-road countrysides received word a bit later. Sailors on the wine-dark open ocean got news of the armistice last.

At sea, the last shot of the American Revolutionary War was fired from the bow of the Continental frigate Alliance into the HMS Sybil, if the evidence is anything to go by.

While in France, the 32-gun Alliance received orders to Havana to transport gold to Philadelphia. After brief repairs, Alliance set out on her mission, touched at St. Eustatius and Cape Francois, and reached Havana on the last day of January 1783.

Portrait of Capt. John Barry

However, another American warship, the 20-gun Duc de Lauzun, was already in port on the same mission. The specie (coins) had already been loaded on that ship, so instead of waiting on orders elsewhere, Alliance’s skipper, Capt. John Barry, decided to escort Duc de Lauzun home.

Almost immediately upon getting underway, though, the duo encountered two Royal Navy frigates. Barry decided not to fight them. The risk to the cargo he escorted was too great. Alliance and Duc de Lauzun evaded their pursuers.

Three days later, on March 10, off the coast of Cape Canaveral they encountered the same pair—HMS Alarm and HMS Sybil. Again, Barry chose to evade rather than engage the enemy.

At first, Alliance started pulling away. Duc de Lauzun, however, couldn’t maneuver as swiftly, and Alarm started gaining ground on her. And then Alarm gave up. Sybil was left to her lonesome for the presumed attack—which she then started.

Once within range, Sybil began firing on Duc de Lauzun. But she was overconfident. Perhaps her captain thought the evading ships under-capable or unprepared for a fight. If so, he was wrong.

Alliance was well able to fight, and Barry maneuvered her between Sybil and Duc de Lauzun so his comrades could break for safety. Sybil refocused her attention and turned her fire toward Alliance. She managed to send one shot from her bow chaser into the American frigate’s cabin, mortally wounding a junior officer and scattering many splinters.

But Barry held his fire. Not until Alliance was within a stone’s throw of her opponent did he unleash his broadside on his enemy. The two crews engaged in of close-in fighting warfare for either 40 minutes or a lifetime.

During the battle, Sybil’s captain, Capt. James Vashon, saw his eventual defeat. In fact, he said he had “never seen a ship so ably fought as the Alliance.” Capt. Barry impressed him. “Every quality of a great commander was brought out with extraordinary brilliancy,” Vashon said of Barry.

While this brief naval battle raged, diplomats were negotiating the terms of the Treaty of Paris, which would be officially signed Sept. 3, 1783, ending the Revolutionary War.

But out on the deep blue sea, America’s sea warriors made sure the final battle of the American Revolution was a victory for the new republic.

This weekend members of the USS Houston (CA 30) Survivors Association and Next Generations are gathered for their 2015 reunion in Houston, Texas. In addition to conducting the business of the organization the reunion featured a dinner last night in which Naval History and Heritage CommandDirector Rear Adm. (Ret) Sam Cox provided the keynote remarks updating reunion attendees on the NHHC study of the condition of Houston’s wreck as well as ongoing Navy and diplomatic efforts to prevent further unauthorized disturbance of the ship which is the final resting place of more than 700 Houston Sailors and Marines who went down with the ship.

One of the highlights of this weekend’s event is the 72nd Anniversary Memorial Service held Saturday at Sam Houston Park’s USS Houston Memorial, honoring those lost onboard the ship and the survivors who have since passed away.

In 2014, a Naval History and Heritage Command underwater archaeologist assisted in a survey of the wreck of USS Houston as part of the 2014 Cooperation Afloat Readiness and Training (CARAT) exercise series. U.S. Navy divers, assisted by personnel from the Indonesian navy, surveyed the World War II wreck in June. Houston was sunk during the World War II Battle of Sunda Strait Feb. 28, 1942 with the loss of more than seven hundred souls. The ship remains sovereign property of the U.S. under customary international law, and is a popular dive site.

The purpose of the CARAT 2014 mission was to determine the vessel’s current condition and provide real-world training to rescue and salvage divers in maneuvering around a sunken ship. The team’s interim report confirmed the site’s identity and documented conclusive evidence of a pattern of unauthorized disturbance of the wreck site. While the findings from the interim report remain intact, the final report released last summer benefits from additional archival research and more exhaustively details the condition of the wreck.

Houston, nicknamed “The Galloping Ghost of the Java Coast,” was sunk in combat during the World War II Battle of Sunda Strait in 1942. Capt. Albert H. Rooks, the ship’s commanding officer who was killed in action, posthumously received the Medal of Honor for extraordinary heroism, while USS Houston was awarded two battle stars, as well as the Presidential Unit Citation.

Cmdr. Andy Schroder, who represented the Royal Australian Navy at the reunion dinner, pauses for a photo with Naval History and Heritage Command Director Rear Adm. (Ret) Sam Cox and Carter Conlin, USN retired and former Commander of the US Naval Order, Texas Commandery. (Photo courtesy of Tim Joseph)

The Department of the Navy’s sunken ship and aircraft wrecks represent a collection of more than 17,000 fragile, non-renewable cultural resources distributed worldwide. They often serve as war graves, safeguard state secrets, carry environmental and safety hazards such as oil and ordnance, and hold great historical value. While it is not feasible to conduct similar surveys of all sunken military craft, Navy leadership desires to ensure the final resting place of those who made the ultimate sacrifice when Houston went down remains in a respected and solemn condition.

The flag of the USS Houston (CA 30) Survivors Association and Next Generations was also displayed at the reunion. (Photo courtesy Tim Joseph)

The flag of the HMAS Perth Association was on display at the reunion. HMAS Perth, of the Royal Australian Navy was sailing with USS Houston when they were both caught and sunk by the Japanese at the Battle of Sunda Strait Feb. 28, 1942.

On March 6, 1822, a 12-gun schooner named Enterprise captured four pirate vessels in the Gulf of Mexico. The event is little known, not well documented, and it was one of her last operations before sinking in the West Indies a year later. But her actions on this day stand alongside a proud history in the legacy of the Enterprise.

There have been eight U.S. Navy ships named Enterprise, creating a legacy that will carry well into the future as PCU Enterprise (CV 80) is designed, constructed and joins the fleet a decade from now.

The first Enterprise was originally a British ship named George. Photo courtesy of USS Enterprise CVN 65’s official website.

ENTERPRISE I (1775-77)

The first Enterprise originally belonged to the British and was named George. She cruised on Lake Champlain and supplied English posts in Canada. On May 18, 1775, Col. Benedict Arnold captured the ship, outfitted her with guns and thereafter defended American supply routes in New England from British attacks. The ship was one of many that embarked more than 1,000 troops in August that year as part of an expedition against three Canadian cities: St. Johns, Montreal and Quebec. British reinforcements caused the Americans to retreat. Regrouping in October, Arnold’s soldiers disrupted the British invasion into New York. Enterprise was one of only five ships to survive the two-day battle. The following year, the British would be defeated at Saratoga, N.Y., which helped bring about a French alliance with the colonists, and with them, their powerful navy. Enterprise, however, wasn’t around for the Battle of Saratoga. The sloop had been run aground on July 7, 1777 during the evacuation of Ticonderoga and was burned to prevent its capture.

The second Enterprise was an 8-gun schooner. Photo courtesy of USS Enterprise CVN 65’s official website.

ENTERPRISE II (1776-77)

The second Enterprise,a schooner, was a successful letter-of-marque before she was purchased Dec. 20, 1776 for the Continental Navy. Commanded by Capt. Joseph Campbell, Enterprise operated principally in Chesapeake Bay. She convoyed transports, carried out reconnaissance, and guarded the shores against foraging raids by the British. Only meager records of her service have been found; they indicate she was apparently returned to the Maryland Council of Safety before the end of February 1777.

The third Enterprise was the schooner used to capture the pirate ships during the Barbary Wars. At her time of service, anti-piracy operations were a major part of the Navy’s mission. American shipping vessels were frequently attacked in the Caribbean, and the Navy was tasked with fighting them. It was her commanding officer, Lt. Stephen Decatur Jr., who pulled off the daring expedition to burn the frigate Philadelphia in the harbor of Tripoli in 1804. She would be refitted as a brig during the War of 1812. On Sept. 5, 1813, Enterprise chased down the British brig Boxer in a close-combat battle that took the lives of both ships’ commanding officers, Lt. William Burrows and Capt. Samuel Blyth. From 1815 to 1823, Enterprise suppressed smugglers, pirates and slavers until July 9, 1823, the ship became stranded and broke up on Little Curacao Island in the West Indies, without any loss of her crew.

The fourth Enterprise was a 10-gun schooner. Photo courtesy of USS Enterprise CVN 65’s official website.

ENTERPRISE IV (1831-1844)

The fourth Enterprise was a schooner built by the New York Navy Yard where it launched on Oct. 26, 1831. Its original complement was nine officers and 63 men and, for most of its life, it protected U.S. shipping around the world. After spending time guarding American interests near Brazil, the schooner spent time in the Far East (Africa, India and East Indies). She was back cruising South America until March 1839 when she left Valparaiso, Chile, to round the Horn, make a port call at Rio de Janeiro, and then head north to Philadelphia, where she was inactivated on July 12. Recommissioned a few months later, Enterprise sailed from New York back to South America on March 16, 1840. After four years, she returned to the Boston Navy Yard, decommissioned June 24, 1844, and sold four months later.

USS Enterprise off New York City during the early 1890s. NHHC photo

ENTERPRISE V (1877-1909)

The fifth Enterprise was a bark-rigged screw sloop-of-war. She was built at the Portsmouth Naval Yard in Maine by John W. Griffith, launched June 13, 1874, and commissioned March 16, 1877. Decommissioned and recommissioned several times, she primarily surveyed oceans, littoral areas, and river founts around the world, including the Amazon and Madeira Rivers. When not on hydrographic survey cruises, she spent time sailing the waters of Europe, the Mediterranean and east coast of Africa. From 1891 to 1892 Enterprise was the platform on which cadets at the Naval Academy trained and practiced. Then she was lent to the Commonwealth of Massachusetts for duty as a maritime schoolship for 17 years. Returned to the Navy on May 4, 1909, Enterprise was sold five months later.

The sixth Enterprise was a 66-foot motor patrol craft purchased by the Navy on Dec. 6, 1916. Photo courtesy of USS Enterprise CVN 65’s official website.

ENTERPRISE VI (1916-19)

The sixth Enterprise (No. 790), a 66-foot motorboat, was purchased by the Navy on Dec. 6, 1916. Placed with the 2nd Naval District on Sept. 25, 1917, the noncommissioned motorboat performed harbor tug duties at Newport, R.I. before going to New Bedford, Mass., Dec. 11, 1917. The motorboat was transferred to the Bureau of Fisheries Aug. 2, 1919.

USS Enterprise (C 6), was the most decorated ship in U.S. Navy history when she was decommissioned in 1946.

ENTERPRISE VII (1938-1947)

Once again a proper warship, this time a Yorktown-class carrier, Enterprise (CV 6) earned her nickname—Big E. In World War II, she earned 20 battle stars, the most for any U.S. warship in World War II, for the crucial roles she played in numerous battles, including Midway, Guadalcanal, Leyte Gulf, and the Doolittle Raid on Tokyo. During the Battle of Guadalcanal, Enterprise took three direct hits, killing 74 and wounding 95 crew members. It was the Enterprise that took on the Hornet’s aircraft after that carrier was abandoned during the Battle of the Santa Cruz Island Oct. 26, 1942.

U.S. Navy ships firing at attacking Japanese carrier aircraft during the Battle of the Santa Cruz Islands, Oct. 26, 1942. USS Enterprise (CV-6) is at left, with at least two enemy planes visible overhead. In the right center is USS South Dakota, firing her starboard 5/38 secondary battery, as marked by the bright flash amidships. Official U.S. Navy Photograph, now in the collections of the National Archives.Catalog #: 80-G-20989

By the end of the Naval Battle of Guadalcanal on Nov. 15, Enterprise had shared in sinking 16 ships and damaging eight more. After an overhaul for much of 1943, Enterprise was back in the fight when, on Nov. 26, 1943, the Big E introduced carrier-based night fighter operations in the Pacific. The Big E suffered the last of her damage on May 14, 1945, after a kamikaze plane struck the ship near her forward elevator, killing 14 and wounding 34 men. The most decorated ship in U.S. naval history entered the New York Naval Shipyard on Jan. 18, 1946 for inactivation and was decommissioned Feb. 17, 1947. She was sold July 1, 1958.

USS Enterprise (CVN-65) Underway, probably in the 1990s. This photograph was received in 1998. Official U.S. Navy Photograph, from the collections of the Naval History and Heritage Command.

ENTERPRISE VIII (1961-2012)

In 1954, Congress authorized the construction of the world’s first nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, the eighth U.S. ship to bear the name Enterprise. The giant ship was to be powered by eight nuclear reactors, two for each of its four propeller shafts. This was a daring undertaking, for never before had two nuclear reactors ever been harnessed together. As such, when the engineers first started planning the ship’s propulsion system, they were uncertain how it would work, or even if it would work according to their theories. Three years and nine months after construction began, Enterprise (CVN 65) was ready to present to the world as “The First, The Finest” super carrier, and the construction was proven capable. Her long career, consisting of 25 deployments and 51 years of service to the United States, has been well documented and this space can’t begin to list her accomplishments, but those can be found here at the Naval History and Heritage Command’s website and in libraries across the country. The ship was inactivated Dec. 1, 2012; she is not expected to be decommissioned until 2016 following four years of nuclear defueling, dismantlement and recycling.

For more than two centuries, Enterprise Sailors have set the standard for excellence aboard the eight ships to proudly bear her name and will continue to do so upon the future commissioning of PCU Enterprise (CVN 80), the third Gerald R. Ford-class aircraft carrier that is scheduled to be delivered to the fleet between 2025-27.

Briton Michael Haywood’s romantic “Eagle of the sea takes wing” (2005) seeks to portray Constitution when first she went to sea in July 1798. This is part of the Library of Congress’ online historical collection on USS Constitution

From Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

USS Constitution, the oldest commissioned warship afloat, is as much a symbol of early America as the Betsy Ross flag and the bald eagle. Launched in 1797, the wooden-hulled sailing frigate played vital roles in a young nation’s fledging naval fleet – from the Quasi War with France, the Barbary Wars with pirates, to the War of 1812.

As the Navy changed from wood to steel ships, from sail to steam-driven, Constitution’s greatest foe would be the hardest to defeat: Deterioration from age. By 1916, the once-proud fighting frigate was taking on up to 25 inches of water a week at her dock in Boston. A $100,000 patch nearly 10 years before had simply bandaged a bigger problem. By 1924, Old Ironsides required daily pumping just to stay afloat. Without $400,000 in repairs, the frigate was doomed.

Rather than requesting the funding from Congress, however, Secretary of the Navy Curtis D. Wilbur decided to get the nation involved. Congress was more than happy to authorize the Navy to collect funds for the ship, passing an omnibus bill on this date (March 4), 1925. Two days later, as the 128-year-old Constitution listed at her dock, Wilbur appointed Rear Adm. Louis de Steiguer to lead the National Save Old Ironsides Campaign committee.

Wilbur had hoped America’s 16 million school children would contribute three cents each or less, and that idea fell a bit flat, bringing in $154,000. The sale of reproductive prints of the ship brought in another $292,000. Then came the sale of souvenir items off the frigate, items like wood, gavel sets, bookends, bolts, cigarette boxes, plaques and anchors.

When Constitution entered Dry Dock #1 in the Charlestown Navy Yard it was only her second time into this particular dock. She has the distinction, however, of being the first vessel to ever enter Dry Dock #1, on June 24, 1833, in the presence of Vice President Martin Van Buren and with Commodore Isaac Hull directing the docking from the ship’s quarter deck. This docking in June, 1927, marked the beginning of a 4-year, nearly $1 million restoration of the ship.

After five years, the fundraising campaign had raised $617,000. Constitution went into drydock on June 16, 1927. But once repairs began, an additional $300,000 in funding from Congress was required.

To thank the citizens of the U.S. who had donated money and materials to the 1927-1931 restoration, the U.S. Navy sent Constitution on a “National Cruise” – a 3-year, 3-coast trip where she visited 76 ports for 90 stops and hosted over 4.6 million men, women, and children. This photograph shows Constitution being tugged into Corpus Christie, Texas, Feb.14, 1932.

This was not the first time USS Constitution would have school children sending pennies to keep the national treasure afloat. And it may not be the last.

Today, the frigate is preparing to once again go into drydock for another restoration. At 217 years old, about 12 percent of Constitution’s hull and keel are wood that was chopped down sometime in 1794. For the upcoming drydocking, 35 white oak trees were harvested at Naval Support Activity Crane in Indiana to support the ship’s repair.

“There will be no historic restoration at this time. We are checking the structural integrity of the ship and will try to do repairs in as historically accurate a manner as can be done,” explained Elizabeth Freese, the special assistant for the Historic Ship and Aircraft Maintenance within the Naval History and Heritage Command.

Constitution has undergone many repairs and restorations over her 200-plus years in service. The effort is not to bring Constitution back to her 1797 origins, but to her glory days during the War of 1812.

Even some of the ship’s repairs have historical significance. By 1803, while laid up in Boston, it was discovered that the English copper sheeting protecting the frigate’s hull had weakened during the time the ship sailed against the French during the Quasi War.

With the need to have warships protecting American merchant vessels from Barbary pirates in the Mediterranean, the old copper was removed and replaced with 3,668 pounds of copper sheeting from a copper mill owned by Paul Revere. (Yes, that Paul Revere, not the lead singer from the 60’s American rock band). It took 14 days to complete the task.

As soon as Constitution could set sail, she was tapped as the flagship of the third Mediterranean squadron during the Barbary Wars. Both the Tripoli and Tunis peace accords would be signed in the captain’s cabin on Constitution during 1805.

After a couple more overhauls between 1807-1811, Constitution was refitted at the Washington Navy Yard as tensions heated up between Great Britain and the United States. It was during this conflict the frigate would gain her greatest fame with an undefeated record against five British ships.

Her famous, first nickname came as Constitution and HMS Guerriere traded shots on Aug. 19, 1812. As British shot bounced off the ship’s hull, a sailor shouted: “Huzzah! Her sides are made of iron!” And thus the moniker, Old Ironsides, was born during the heat of battle.

While her sides weren’t made of iron, happily American live oak is stronger than English white oak and Constitution’s designer, Joshua Humphreys (the namesake of the newly-renovated NAVSEA building at the Washington Navy Yard), placed the ribs of the frigate four inches apart rather than eight as English shipbuilders had done. The frigate’s narrow but longer hull and nearly an acre of sail enabled her to outmaneuver larger ships.

By the end of 32 months, the wooden-hulled frigate was the darling of the War of 1812, and the only ship to have all of her captains from that war decorated by Congress: Capt. Isaac Hull, Commodore William Bainbridge and Capt. Charles Stewart

Just 15 years later, however, outdated and obsolete, Constitution loitered in the Boston Navy Yard when a survey was conducted to see what it would cost to bring the ships there into commission. A newspaper misunderstood the report and reported the grand old frigate would be scrapped. And that inspired a law student to pen a farewell to “Old Ironsides.”

Written by then-unknown poet Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr., the poem was reprinted coast to coast by newspapers, garnering public support for the ship. It was through his words Constitution received her second nickname from the last line of the second stanza: The Eagle of the Sea. The frigate received much-needed funding for repairs between 1833-34, and Holmes became one of America’s beloved poets.

Another serendipitous moment in Constitution’s life would come a generation later when the ship was brought back to the Boston Navy Yard just prior to her 100th birthday, thanks to the efforts of a Massachusetts congressman named John F. Fitzgerald… the grandfather of a future president who bore his name.

Constitution became a “receiving ship” in 1882 at the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, Kittery, Maine, when a large barn was built over her top deck and offices and barracks were installed on board. A receiving ship was a place where officers and enlisted personnel would await new orders. She was returned to Boston in September, 1897, one month before her centenary, still with the barn attached; the barn would not be removed until the superficial restoration of 1906-1907.

The ship had been out of active service with the Navy since 1881 and was again in need of repairs. The possibility – no matter how farfetched – of using the storied ship as target practice drew the ire of an Armenian immigrant, Moses H. Gulesian. He sent a telegram to Secretary of the Navy Charles Joseph Bonaparte offering $10,000 to purchase the ship.

Once the offer made the headlines in the Boston Globe Dec. 12, 1905, along with Bonaparte’s decline of the offer, Congress authorized $100,000 for repairs and designated her as a national treasure. Gulesian would later be elected president of the Old Ironsides Association.

Unfortunately, the repair work was mostly cosmetic, removing a barracks-like structure from her deck and replacing the sails, masts, spars and rigging, as well as putting in replica cannon. Despite the money, the hull continued to deteriorate, which set up the circumstances for the March 4, 1925 act of Congress to repair the mighty frigate again.

Also that same year, bronze salvaged from the ship was used to make 25 Medals of Honor given to World War I recipients.

Following the 1925 campaign to save Constitution, the frigate offered her thanks as she visited ports along with the East and West coasts.

In 1954, President Dwight D. Eisenhower signed a law authorizing the Navy to repair, equip and restore Constitution to her original appearance as much as possible.

In celebration of the 200th anniversary of Constitution’s launch on Oct. 21, 1797, the ship sailed under her own power off the coast of Marblehead, Maine, in 1997 following a four-year restoration. This celebratory event, with six new sails, was the first time Constitution had sailed under her own power in 116 years.

Another restoration in 1992 included the re-installation of diagonal cross riders which have helped significantly to reduce the ship’s hogging and led to Old Ironsides proving she was indeed, the Eagle of the Sea, by sailing out of Boston Harbor in 1997 under her own power for the first time in 116 years.

To celebrate Constitution’s 200th anniversary of her victory over HMS Guerriere, the frigate sailed again Aug. 19, 2012, under her own power for the first time since 1997. Although an underway wasn’t in the offing, the ship recently celebrated the 200th anniversary of her final ‘dual-victory’ over Royal Navy ships HMS Cyane and HMS Levant on Feb. 20, 1815 in the final days of hostilities during the War of 1812 with a ceremonial gun salute, ceremony and reception.

Although soon to be out of active service to tourists and the Boston community, the much-beloved ship will continue to remain an icon in American history. Upon her return in 2018, the mighty frigate will once again prove to be the Eagle of the Sea.

The guided-missile frigate USS Kauffman (FFG 59) performs a high-speed turn during a seamanship training drill. Kauffman is deployed to the U.S. 4th Fleet area of responsibility in support of U.S. Southern Command and Operation MartilloJan. 24, 2015. The Navy and Coast Guard team will work to suppress illicit trafficking in the region. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Shane A. Jackson/Released)

By Cmdr. Michael Concannon, Commanding Officer, USS Kauffman (FFG 59)

While is it too early to look forward to the end of the life of this great ship and the end of the FFG class, it is hard to ignore the last anniversary of the commissioning of Kauffman. It is my goal to keep my ship and crew focused on the task at hand; curbing the flow of illicit materials into North America. The amount of work required to achieve our mission is more than enough to keep our crew, Law Enforcement Detachment and Aviation Department busy. From weekly brief stops for fuel and logistical requirements, to the six or more hours of flight operations per day, to constant maintenance to keep us in the fight, our Sailors demonstrate the espirit de corps that would make our namesakes proud.

This ship bears the name of a father and son who dedicated their lives in service of their country, whose freedom our Sailors continue to cherish and defend as they did so selflessly many years ago. It is my goal to keep the legacy of Kauffman alive in the crew; that breathes life into the ship.

It is an incredible honor to be here now, underway onboard the last in a long line of accomplished warships, sharing in the string of “lasts” that we are honored to experience, including today. I will refrain from looking back in retrospect on all that this ship and this class of ship has achieved. Our mission is not done and our watch is not over, and the lions share of the work that is left will be shouldered by my remarkable crew. Instead of nostalgia, I would like to give you some insight on what these great Perry-class Sailors, who view themselves like the Destroyer-men of old, are doing to defend our freedom and to further the strategic goals of this great nation.

This mission is one that will produce tangible results that can be seen by both the crew and the American public at once. More than 80 percent of cocaine starts its journey out of South America into Central America, through the very waters we are patrolling, eventually making its way into North American markets. Our Navy and Coast Guard team are working hard to hunt down these illicit traffickers, using all assets available, and confiscate their illicit cargo, using the law enforcement capabilities of our USCG Detachment to bring them to justice. It is not easy work, and it requires an extraordinary amount of patience and constant vigilance by the entire crew.

This last mission is a fitting one for the type of Sailors that FFG’s have always bred. It is an around the clock mission, where most of our work is done in the middle of the night after a full days work. It requires a “jack of all trades” type of Sailor, one that can shift from administrative duties to manning a boat team ready to board and search a ship at a moments notice. These Sailors take an unequaled amount of pride in their work, and each day challenge one another to be their very best.

I hope that this blog helps to remind Americans of what their men and women who have volunteered to wear the cloth of our nation are doing to keep the streets of America a little safer and the futures of its citizens a little brighter. For the thousands and thousands of prior FFG-7 class Sailors, I hope this brings back fond memories of your service on these warships, and that you feel the pride we do to have served our nation on this class of ship. This commissioning anniversary is important for us on Kauffman as it represents the celebration of the birth of a warship; its significance is not lost on me. However, my focus right now is exactly where it needs to be; getting this ship and its crew through this deployment successfully. Please follow along with us on our last journey, and continue to support this last crew to join the fraternity of tin-can Sailors.

Family members watch as the guided-missile frigate USS Kauffman (FFG 59) departs Naval Station Norfolk for its final deployment. Kauffman will operate in the U.S. 4th Fleet area of responsibility and support U.S. Southern Command. Kauffman’s deployment also marks the last scheduled deployment by any Oliver Hazard Perry-class frigate and, in September, the ship will be the last operationally-active frigate to decommission. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Laura Hoover/Released)

I ask you to spend a minute this weekend in remembrance of the 1,082 brave men of the heavy cruiser USS Houston (CA 30). It was in the early hours of March 1st, 73 years ago, that she sailed for the final time into the teeth of enemy fire. While heading for the Sunda Strait, and in concert with the Australian light cruiser HMAS Perth, she ran into the main Japanese invasion force then landing on the island of Java. This force consisted, in its entirety, of one light carrier, one seaplane carrier, five cruisers, 12 destroyers, a mine-layer and 58 troopships.

Low on fuel and with her after turret out of action, this as a result of earlier damage sustained at the Battle of Makassar Strait, Houston, along with Perth, entered the fray. The last message anyone would ever hear from these ships was a radio transmission sent by Houston; the message read “Enemy forces engaged.”

Perth went down first, fighting to the end, but even the heroism of her crew could not overcome four torpedo strikes and untold hits by enemy cannon. When Perth succumbed, 353 men went down with her including her commanding officer, Capt. Hector Waller.

Battle of Sunda Strait, 28 February – 1 March 1942. Painting by John Hamilton depicting USS Houston (CA 30) in her final action with Japanese forces. Courtesy of the US Navy Memorial Foundation. Painting from the John Hamilton collection. (Courtesy of NHHC Art Gallery)

Houston was now left alone, surrounded by enemy ships and aircraft. In quick succession she was hit by shell and torpedo but continued to fight on. Some time after 01:30, having been hit scores of times, faced with extensive flooding below decks, out of ammunition for her main guns, and with fires raging out of control, Capt. Albert Rooks, the commanding officer, gave the order to abandon ship. Only minutes later he was killed by an exploding Japanese shell.

Houston was bathed in the glare of Japanese searchlights, still under heavy fire and settling by the bow when her surviving crew gave her to the sea. As she began her final plunge one survivor wrote that “it seemed as a sudden breeze picked up the Stars and Stripes, still firmly blocked on the mainmast, and waved them in one last defiant gesture.” Other survivors saw red tracer fire still spitting out of a machine gun platform as one lone Marine, Gunnery Sgt. Walter Standish, true to the traditions of the Corps continued firing until the sea took him.

Some 675 Sailors and Marines died with Houston. Most of these men were killed during her final battle, were taken down with the ship or died when the pitiless tide washed them into the vast Indian Ocean but others were machine gunned as they swam helpless in the water.

The 366 survivors were taken into captivity, but their ordeal was far from over. Many would end up in POW camps in Burma, where they were forced, under inhuman conditions, to construct the infamous Burma Railway. Of this handful of survivors a further 76 died of sickness, abuse, torture, hunger and neglect. At war’s end in 1945 only 290 men remained, many broken in body but not in spirit, to return to the United States. Think of them, for they paid the full price in defense of our freedoms.

As one of the survivors later wrote —“Well Done , Well Done!”

Capt. R. Mark Stacpoole (center) along with other Naval officers from Australia, Indonesia and the United States participate in a wreath-laying ceremony aboard the submarine tender USS Frank Cable (AS 40) in honor of the crews of the U.S. Navy heavy cruiser USS Houston (CA 30) and the Royal Australian Navy light cruiser HMAS Perth (D29). Both ships were sunk during World War II by Imperial Japanese forces within Indonesian waters during the battle of Sunda Strait in February 1942. Frank Cable, forward deployed to the island of Guam, conducts maintenance and support of submarines and surface vessels deployed to the U.S. 7th Fleet areas of responsibility and is on a scheduled underway. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Jon Erickson/Released)

From Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

It was a rainy day on Feb. 22, 1909 when 16 battleships of the U.S. Atlantic Fleet returned home to Hampton Roads, Va. completing an exhausting 26-month, 43,000 mile circumnavigation of the globe. For the 14,000 Sailors and Marines who were part of this epic voyage, the mood was nothing like the dreary and overcast skies.

President Theodore Roosevelt (on the 12-inch (30 cm) gun turret at right) addresses officers and crewmen on USS Connecticut, in Hampton Roads, Va., upon her return from the Fleet’s cruise around the world, Feb. 22, 1909.

The four squadrons of warships, nicknamed the “Great White Fleet” because of their white hulls, returned to the United States victorious, even though no war or battle had taken place. The journey included 20 port calls on six continents and it is widely considered one of the greatest peacetime achievements of the U.S. Navy. President Theodore Roosevelt declared the cruise was “the most important service that I rendered for peace.”

This round-the world-voyage had two distinct purposes: First and foremost, the ships had to be tested to see if they were mechanically sound and ready to operate in distant parts of the globe. Second, it was an opportunity to demonstrate America’s naval prowess to the rest of the world and to energize and inspire Americans back home.

The success of the odyssey satiated the country’s desire to be recognized as a world power, with a fleet that proved the United States was capable of projecting its influence anywhere in the world.

Another happy side effect was enhanced relations and strengthened partnerships with the countries the fleet visited including Trinidad, Brazil, Chile, Peru, Mexico, Hawaii, New Zealand, Australia, The Philippine Islands, Japan, China, Ceylon, Egypt, and Gibraltar.

The relationships with other countries visited were improved or initially established in a positive way. Diplomatic ties with Japan were arguably the most improved because America’s increasingly tense relationship with the Rising Sun Empire got an overhaul, one of the objectives for President Roosevelt and his administration. The visit to Japan by the fleet provided the main thrust behind the Root-Takahira agreement that went into effect shortly after the fleet’s return.

According to this treaty, the U.S. and Japan agreed to maintain the status quo in the Pacific and to respect each other’s possessions there. Additionally, both countries agreed to respect the “Open Door” policy in China and the independence and cohesive integrity of that country.

On the technical side, the Navy was able to test the physical and tactical systems of these warships and see what areas needed improvement after 14 months at sea. Roosevelt stated “I want all failures, blunders and shortcomings to be made apparent in time of peace and not war.”

There were no significant breakdowns on the cruise, but it brought to light that technical changes were needed concerning the ships’ hull design and gunnery arrangement. Shipboard habitability wasn’t adequate and the ventilation systems had to be improved. During rough seas, water would seep into the ships’ hulls and could potentially cause the ship to list, or even worse, sink.

One of the most important lessons learned was a ship’s dependency upon foreign coaling stations would be a handicap. They would need to convert warships to burn oil as a primary fuel as quickly as possible, preferably during peacetime rather than at the beginning of a war.

Another recommended change was to paint the hulls “haze gray” rather than white, because it was felt Navy ships should not be in “holiday colors” going into battle.

The Great White Fleet’s voyage around the world was in a way the birth of the new United States Navy. The officers and Sailors of the fleet had been provided with thorough at-sea training and had been integral in the changes in the Navy’s approach to formation steaming, coal economy, and gunnery.

For the Sailors who participated in this historic adventure, the cruise reinforced their pride for their service and their country. They had become unforgettable ambassadors through which others judged America and her Navy, and just as impressive as the sight of that Great White Fleet, they did America proud.

Burning of the Frigate Philadelphia in the Harbor at Tripoli by Edward Moran (U.S. Naval Academy Museum)

On the evening of 16th February, 1804, the U.S. frigate Philadelphia was burned in Tripoli Harbor. The frigate had been captured on October 31, 1803 when the ship ran aground on a reef a few miles outside Tripoli. The war with Tripoli had raged since 1801, the entire action of the war mostly amounting to a few naval skirmishes and a lackadaisical blockade of Tripoli. When Commodore Edward Preble arrived to take command of the war, he had hoped to up the tempo of operations against Tripoli and quickly bring the war to a successful conclusion. The capture of the Philadelphia dramatically complicated this objective. The capture meant the Philadelphia’s captain and her crew, 307 Americans, became Tripoli’s prisoners. The capture also diminished American prestige among the Barbary States. Preble decided it was necessary to destroy the captured ship. The mission would be extremely dangerous; Preble expected the destruction of the ship would only come with great loss of life. Lieutenant Stephen Decatur, Jr. volunteered to command the mission. His success restored American prestige and secured him a reputation of valor that followed him the rest of his life. The burning of the Philadelphia was a heroic episode during the Barbary Wars that made Decatur a hero and greatly increased the reputation of the Navy and the United States.

In 1801, Tripoli demanded larger tribute payments from the United States. If the United States did not agree to the increased tribute, then Tripoli’s ruler would declare war. The U.S. refused, and therefore, in May 1801, Tripoli declared war and began raiding the U.S. merchant fleet in the Mediterranean.[1] Commodore Richard Dale, the commander of U.S. Naval forces in the Mediterranean, then began actions against Tripoli. Arriving in Gibraltar July 1, 1801, Dale found two Tripolitan ships in quarantine. Convinced the ships were targeting American shipping, Dale dispatched the frigate Philadelphia under the command of Captain Samuel Barron to keep the ships from escaping.[2] Dale then proceeded to Tripoli to blockade, reaching the city July 24, 1801. However, Dale soon lifted the blockade and returned to Gibraltar where his squadron spent the rest of the year blockading the two Tripolitan vessels in Gibraltar and convoying American shipping.[3] They were relieved by a squadron commanded by Commodore Robert Morris in early 1802[4].

Morris soon became bogged down in disputes with Tunis as well. The Tripolitan ship, the Paulina, was captured by the schooner Enterprise in January 1802. Some of the Paulina’s cargo belonged to a Tunisian subject and the Bey of Tunis demanded immediate repayment, or the U.S. would face another war. During the course of negotiations, Morris was detained until he agreed to repay a loan the Bey claimed the American consul to Tunis, William Eaton, owed.[5]

Due to delays caused by the affair in Tunis as well as troubles with Algiers, Morris’ squadron did not arrive at Tripoli until May 20, 1802. After blockading Tripoli for about a month, during which an attack was made on Tripoli harbor which ended in the destruction of numerous Tripolitan ships[6], Morris raised the blockade on June 26, 1802. Morris then returned to Gibraltar and spent the remainder of the year in inactivity. Morris’ superiors were extremely displeased by his lack of initiative, so much so that he was suspended and command handed over to Captain John Rodgers. Morris was ordered to sail for home, where he faced a court of inquiry which found his conduct of the war inept and afterward he was dismissed from the Navy.[7] The first two years of war passed in relative inactivity, with Tripoli being blockaded for a total of about three months. Upon the arrival of Commodore Edward Preble, however, the conduct of the war changed dramatically.

Commodore Edward Preble

Preble arrived in the Mediterranean September 12, 1803. As soon as he arrived, Preble sent the frigate Philadelphia and the schooner Vixen to blockade Tripoli. However, before he could sail to Tripoli with the entirety of his squadron, Preble felt he needed to first resolve issues with the state of Morocco.[8] The Emperor of Morocco had released his corsairs to capture American vessels because of the capture of the Tripolitan ship Meshuda, which was flying Moroccan colors.[9] Angering the Moroccan Emperor even further, on his journey to Gibraltar Captain William Bainbridge captured the Moroccan cruiser Mirboka, which had captured the American vessel Celia.

Preble arrived at Tangiers with the combined force of two American squadrons, for Captain John Rodgers, acting commander of Morris’ squadron since Morris’ relief, agreed to accompany Preble before returning home. This show of force impressed the Moroccan Emperor who then disavowed all hostile actions toward American vessels. To demonstrate his good will, the Emperor gave Preble a present of many animals and promised to release the crew of the American brig Hannah. Preble, in return, agreed to release the Meshuda and the Mirboka.[10]

Once hostilities with Morocco were resolved, Preble returned to Gibraltar and sailed for Cadiz in order to replace an anchor and a cable lost at Tangiers which were not available at Gibraltar. While in Cadiz, Preble issued a proclamation of a blockade stating “that all Neutral Vessels that attempt to enter the Port of Tripoli, or are met with on the coast near that Port… will be stopped by the Squadron under my command and sent into port for adjudication.”[11] This circular was sent to various U.S. ministers throughout Europe and the Mediterranean. Later Preble received orders from the Secretary of the Navy, Robert Smith, to amend his blockade, requiring that “in every case of an attempt to enter without a previous knowledge of the existence of the blockade, you will give the commanding Officer of such a vessel notice of such a blockade and forewarn him from entering.” [12]

While Preble was resolving the trouble with Morocco, Captain William Bainbridge in command of the frigate Philadelphia along with the schooner Vixen sailed to Tripoli in order to establish a blockade. The ships arrived at Tripoli on October 7, 1803. Action off the coast was very limited. Captain Bainbridge wrote he was “without the good fortune of seeing our enemies except under the refuge of well fortified works.” [13] However, Bainbridge learned of two Tripolitan cruisers off the coast of Cape Bon and dispatched Vixen on October 20 to find them. The Philadelphia stayed on station off Tripoli to continue the blockade[14]. On October 31, the Philadelphia sighted a Tripolitan vessel hugging the shoreline. The frigate began chasing the vessel at about 0900, getting within firing distance of her at 1100. At 1130, Bainbridge decided to cease the chase as the vessel was by then too close into the shore. However, when Bainbridge turned the Philadelphia away from land, he became immediately stuck on a reef, which was not on any of the Americans’ maps. To try and free the ship from the reef, Bainbridge had all but one anchor cut away and threw overboard most of the ships guns, “reserving as many only as would be necessary to defend against the enemy’s gunboats…”[15] Since the frigate was stuck only about three and a half miles outside Tripoli, many Tripolitan gunboats soon arrived and began firing on the ship. “The gun boats having taken a station on our Starboard quarter, commenced a firing, directed principally at our masts and rigging[16].” The Philadelphia returned fire with the few guns the crew had saved; however, their fire had no effect. “We returned (fire) with two guns from our main deck and three of our quarter deck cannonades, which, from the very great heel the ship had, took no effect.”[17] To try and free the ship, Bainbridge ordered the stern and foremast to be cut away, but try as he might the Philadelphia could not be freed from the reef.

Bainbridge held out until about 1630, endeavoring to free the boat by any means, all the while being fired at by the enemy cruisers that circled the ship. At that time, he called a council of his officers in order to decide what to do. The council found it impossible to free the ship and that all further resistance was futile and would only bring unnecessary harm to the crew with little benefit to their mission. Therefore, “it was unanimously agreed that the only thing left for us to do was to surrender to the enemy…”[18] After ordering the magazine flooded, the ship scuttled and the remaining guns to either be thrown overboard or rendered useless, Bainbridge surrendered the Philadelphia. The crew was taken prisoner, with officer and sailor alike being stripped of most of their belongings. The prisoners were then taken to meet with the ruler of Tripoli, who was greatly pleased at his good fortune in capturing an American frigate. The officers were then placed under house arrest in the abandoned American consulate, while the sailors became slave laborers[19].

The capture of the Philadelphia completely changed the war with Tripoli. Suddenly, the Tripolitans had 307 American prisoners to ransom and a 40-gun American frigate added to their arsenal. Though the ship had been scuttled, “the Turks… got on board in season to stop the holes and prevent her filling.”[20] Also, most of the guns thrown overboard were salvaged. The capture of the Philadelphia meant “the enemy gained a better vessel than they had ever owned before.”[21] The Tripolitan ruler, Yusuf Kramanli, increased his demands for peace from $500,000 and an annual tribute payment of $20,000 to $3,000,000 for peace and the ransom of the crew of the Philadelphia[22]. Preble learned of the capture of the Philadelphia from the British frigate Amazon on 24 November 1803.[23] Writing to inform the Secretary of the Navy of the capture, Preble revealed his displeasure. “This affair distresses me beyond description, and very much deranges my plans of operations for the present.”[24] Preble wrote angrily of what he perceived to be a lack of an enthusiastic defense of the ship. “(I) would to God, that the officers and crew of the Philadelphia had one and all, determined to prefer death to slavery; it is possible such a determination might have saved them from either.”[25] His hopes of ending the war soon were confounded. “If it had not have been for the Capture of the Philadelphia, I have no doubt, but we should have had peace with Tripoli in the Spring.”[26] Preble also feared the blow to prestige the United States would suffer among the other Barbary states. “I fear our national character will sustain an injury with the Barbarians.”[27] Indeed, the state of Tunis was emboldened in its dealings with the United States and began to demand restitution for the confiscation of Tunisian property during the fall of 1803. As one Tunisian minister told the U.S. consular agent to Tunis, George Davis, “the Americans are now like the ground.”[28]

Preble decided that it was necessary to destroy the frigate though he believed, “it will undoubtedly cost us many lives.”[29] Though he knew that the Tripolitans had no way to man the captured frigate, Preble knew that they would probably endeavor to sell it to another of the Barbary States, possibly Tunis or Algiers.[30] Preble decided to reconnoiter Tripoli’s harbor in his flagship, Constitution, along with the schooner Enterprise. While sailing off Tripoli, the Enterprise sighted a vessel flying Turkish colors departing Tripoli. The Enterprise stopped the vessel and found it to be a Tripolitan ship carrying tribute to Constantinople. An Italian doctor on board the Constitution identified the ship as the Mastico which had participated in the capture of the Philadelphia. The captain of the Mastico, a Tripolitan named Murad Reis, “was among the first that boarded the ship and was extremely active in taking the officers out and… plundering them of their cloathing[sic].”[31] The captain and the crew were taken prisoner and the Mastico was pressed into service and renamed the Intrepid.

The rest of 1803 was spent cruising throughout the Mediterranean. Preble stayed in Syracuse, his new base, trying to negotiate a peace and the freedom of the American prisoners. By January 1804, it was agreed that the price of peace would be a small consular gift, a ransom of $120,000, and an exchange of the Philadelphia for a schooner[32]. However, before this peace could be put into effect, Preble decided to try and destroy the Philadelphia. Preble ordered an expedition to be readied; the ships Siren and Intrepid were to sneak into Tripoli harbor and attempt to destroy the Philadelphia. Lieutenant Stephen Decatur, Jr. volunteered to command the mission. The plan was fairly simple. The Intrepid would sneak into the harbor pretending to be a merchantman, the Siren would enter with her to provide support. The Intrepid would then moor right next to the captured Philadelphia; the crew would board her and take control, and then burn the ship. The mission, however, would be extremely dangerous; the Philadelphia lay in the middle of Tripoli Harbor, protected by 115 guns spread throughout numerous batteries, its own 40-gun compliment, with the majority of the Tripolitan fleet anchored in the harbor. Together the Intrepid and Siren mounted only 20 guns. Preble ordered Decatur to raise a group of 70 volunteers in order to man the Intrepid for the mission. When Decatur asked for volunteers from his crew, “every man and boy stepped forward”.[33]

The Intrepid received her orders on January 31, 1804 and departed Syracuse February 2.[34] The ship was extremely small and uncomfortable. Designed to carry a complement of only about 30 men, 70 men were forced to cram into her along with all of the materials necessary to destroy the Philadelphia. Also, because the ship was disguised as a Maltese merchantman, only about six or seven of the crew could be on deck at any time. The voyage lasted about a week, with the ships arriving at Tripoli on February 7.[35] Once outside of Tripoli, Decatur sent Midshipman Charles Morris along with Sicilian pilot Salvatore Catalano, who had accompanied the Americans to act as interpreter and guide, to inspect the conditions of the harbor. The two reported that the harbor could not be entered because of high surf.[36] Storms kept the ships from attempting to enter the harbor until the 16th. In the evening on the 16th, at around 1900, the Intrepid entered the harbor. However, before the Siren could enter, the wind stopped blowing. The Intrepid would have to attempt to accomplish the mission by herself without any support from the Siren.

To sneak into the harbor, the Intrepid disguised herself as a Maltese merchantman flying British colors. The crew dressed in the clothing of Maltese sailors. So skillfully was she disguised, the British consulate raised the Union Jack to welcome them.[37]

The USS Philadelphia Burning in Tripoli Harbor

The Intrepid sailed into the harbor and pulled up to the captured frigate. The Tripolitan captain called to the ship and ordered her to stay away. The Sicilian pilot, Salvatore Catalano, called back asking permission to tie the boat to the frigate saying the ship had lost its anchor in a storm. The captain asked what the ship at the harbor’s mouth, the Siren, was. Catalano replied it was the Transfer, a ship the Tripolitans had purchased in Malta but that had actually been captured by the Americans before it could arrive in Tripoli.[38] The two ships exchanged lines and the Intrepid moored next to the frigate. As soon as the Intrepid pulled up to the ship, Decatur gave the order to board and was the first on the Philadelphia. Behind him, sixty men boarded the ship “like a cluster of bees.”[39] The Americans quickly overpowered the Tripolitans, killing 20, with the rest of the Tripolitan guards escaping either by boat or by jumping overboard. Once the frigate was in their power, the crew of the Intrepid began the task of destroying the ship. The crew spread throughout the ship placing combustibles and waiting for Decatur to give the order to set fire to the ship. As the crew set about its work, the Tripolitans in the harbor and on shore raised the alarm. “The noise occasion by boarding… gave a general alarm on shore… many boats filled with men lay round, but from whom we received no annoyance.”[40] The guns from the shore batteries began to fire, “but with no other effect than one shot passing through our top gall sail.”[41] Decatur ordered the ship to be set fire, going to each station and giving the command. Decatur then supervised the withdrawal of the crew back onto the Intrepid, counting each man and ensuring everyone had gotten of the burning ship before he left it.[42] Twenty minutes had elapsed. Decatur quickly ordered his crew to push off of the burning frigate, as the Intrepid was in danger of catching fire. The crew pushed off with spars and the Intrepid’s boats towed her away from the burning Philadelphia. As the Intrepid pulled away, the Philadelphia’s cannons began to go off. “She had all of her guns mounted and loaded which as they became hot went off as she lay with her broadside to the town.”[43] The Intrepid pulled out of the harbor, rejoined the Siren, and the two ships made for Syracuse, returning on February 18 to general rejoicing by the rest of the squadron.

The Tripolitan reaction to the raid was a mixture of surprise and fury. Tripoli’s ruler was enraged and ordered more guards and tighter restrictions placed on the American prisoners. He had good reason to be angry; Tripoli had actually already sold the frigate to Tunis.[44] Kramanli was so incensed at the burning that he refused to even consider a proposed prisoner exchange.[45] One Tripolitan man, recalling the event years later, was impressed with the Americans. “These Americans have wise heads, when they lose their ship, they lose it to everybody.”[46]

To the Americans, the burning of the Philadelphia was viewed as an enormous victory. “The success of this enterprise added much to the reputation of the Navy, both at home and abroad.”[47] Preble praised Decatur for his intrepidity and courage, immediately writing the Secretary of the Navy to ask for Decatur’s immediate promotion to captain, writing “I wish as a stimulus (to others), it could be done in this instance; it would eventually be of real service to our Navy.”[48] The Secretary took Preble’s advice and in a letter dated May 22, 1804 formally granted Decatur the rank of Captain, writing, “The President has desired me to convey to you his thanks for your gallant conduct on this occasion… As a testimonial of the President’s high opinion of your gallant conduct in this instance, he sends to you the enclosed commission.”[49] For his part in the raid, Decatur became the youngest captain ever appointed in the U.S. Navy.[50] Decatur’s reputation was also made among his European counterparts. Nelson, who was blockading Toulon at the time, heard about the event and called it the most bold and daring act of the age.[51] Decatur would be further honored by Congress with a sword and the other officers and sailors who took part in the raid received two month’s pay.[52] The raid cemented Decatur’s reputation for bravery and as a daring commander.

Stephen Decatur: American Naval Hero

Preble now prepared for a major attack on Tripoli. Preble began to assemble a large fleet at Syracuse. Preble supplemented his own forces with the captured Transfer, which was renamed the Scourge. Preble also asked the King of Naples, who was also at war with Tripoli, for a number of gun and mortar boats with which to bombard Tripoli.[53] These the King provided along with the crews to man them. Preble made his assault in the summer of 1804, capturing numerous Tripolitan prizes and causing great destruction in Tripoli. When the Philadelphia was captured, Preble wrote back to the United States for reinforcements. These were sent, but unfortunately for Preble, there were not enough junior captains to command the reinforcements. The Secretary of the Navy wrote Preble informing him of this unfortunate circumstance and that he was to be relieved of command.[54] Preble was greatly disappointed at the thought of being relieved at “the moment of victory.”[55] Preble, though, duly relinquished his squadron to Commodore Samuel Barron on December 24, 1804 and sailed for home, leaving the Tripolitans considerably weaker than when he arrived.

The burning of the Philadelphia was the result of a daring raid during the war against Tripoli. Stephen Decatur secured for himself a reputation for valor that lasted for the rest of his life. The burning of the Philadelphia shocked the Tripolitans, enraging their ruler, and restored American prestige in the eyes of the other Barbary States. Even more amazing, the raid cost no American lives. While Bainbridge and the crew of the Philadelphia remained prisoners until the end of the war, the destruction of the frigate ensured that the Tripolitans could not use it nor sell it to any of the other Barbary States. After the frigate’s destruction, Preble increased the tempo of operations against Tripoli, causing great destruction for Tripoli and her fleet, and increasing even further the prestige of the U.S. Navy in the eyes of Barbary. Preble and Decatur would both return home to a hero’s welcome. Costing no lives or ships lost, cementing the heroic reputation of Decatur, and giving the initiative back to the Americans, the burning of the Philadelphia was a heroic and important episode in the war against Tripoli.

[1]Ray W. Irwin,Diplomatic Relations of the United States with the Barbary Powers 1776-1816 (New York: Russell & Russell, 1970), p.107

USS Housatonic was attacked and sunk by Confederate submarine H.L. Hunley on Feb. 17, 1864. It was the last act from the little submarine, which sank only 1,000 feet from Housatonic, killing all eight crew members.

In a cold night off the coast of South Carolina on Feb. 17, 1864, the Sailors manning federal sloop of war USS Housatonic continued their duties, much as Sailors of today do while underway. They maintained the engine, ate chow and stood watch – though at the time it was a watch against Confederate blockade runners during the Civil War. The monotonous duties had been going on for months and the ship had not seen any action in the war since a few months before when they were part of a failed attack on Fort Sumter.

One of the Sailors on watch saw something drifting slowly through the water. In the night it would be hard to tell exactly what it was – a porpoise? A log?

By the time the Housatonic crew realized it was a vessel, operating mostly below the waterline, it was a hundred feet away, too close — too late — to bring their guns to bear. Reacting with desperation, the crew let slip the ship’s anchor chain and reversed the engine to evade the vessel.

Then the crash of something hitting the ship. Seconds later an explosion sounded, coming from Housatonic’s starboard side. Within five minutes the bulk of the 1,240 ton vessel lay beneath the waters in the shallows of South Carolina, five Sailors dead and the rest awaiting rescue in the ship’s rigging or lifeboats – victims of the first submarine attack. It was the only real success any submarine had during the American Civil War.

That successful sinking of Housatonic actually came at a greater cost to the vessel that sank her. CSS H.L. Hunley and her 8-person crew never returned to base, disappearing that night. She would not be found for more than a century.

CSS H.L. Hunley R.G. Skerrett Pen and ink drawing with wash.

L. Hunley was fashioned from a boiler iron and expressly built for hand-power. The vessel, named for one of her designers and financer, Horace Lawson Hunley, was designed for a 8-person crew, seven to turn the hand-cranked propeller and one to steer and direct the boat. A true submarine, it was equipped with ballast tanks to be flooded by valves and pumped dry by hand pumps. Iron weights were bolted as extra ballast to the underside of her hull. H. L. Hunley was equipped with a mercury depth gauge, steered by a compass when submerged and light was provided by a candle whose dying flame would also warn of dwindling air supply. When near the surface, two hollow pipes could be raised above the surface to admit air. Glass portholes were used to sight when operating near the surface.

The confederate submarine CSS H. L. Hunley became the first submarine to successfully attack a ship, federal sloop of war USS Housatonic, on Feb. 17, 1864 during the American Civil War. Made for a crew of nine, one to steer the vessel and eight to hand-power Hunley’s propeller which let the vessel reach approximately four knots. Though Hunley sank Housatonic, the submarine was not seen until more than a century later in 1995, when it was found, and raised in 2000. The submarine has since been undergoing curation at the Warren Lasch Conservation Center in Charleston, S.C.

It was not surprising the vessel went down. The pioneering submarine had failed twice before, the first time killing five sailors inside and the second time killing designer Hunley and a crew of seven. By the time it attacked Housatonic, Confederate Gen. Pierre Beauregard, in charge of South Carolina’s defenses, refused to let the vessel dive anymore, insisting the crew keep it awash (at water level).

Originally the ship was supposed to drag a torpedo 200 feet behind her. She would dive beneath a target ship and come up on the other side, continuing on her way until the torpedo struck the vessel behind her. By the time of the attack on Housatonic, the vessel was outfitted it with a Spar Torpedo, much like the Confederate torpedo boat CSS David, to try and sink vessels.

The Confederate submarine was found in 1995 about 1,000 feet from the where the action took place against Housatonic, more than a century before. Five years later, the little sub was raised and transported to the Warren Lasch Conservation Center in North Charleston where it undergoes conservation to this day.

Naval History and Heritage Command (NHHC) acts as the administrator for the curation and ultimate disposition of the submarine.

“We are the federal manager of the submarine,” said Robert Neyland, Ph.D., director of NHHC’s Underwater Archaeology Branch (UAB). “We have a programmatic agreement with the state of South Carolina regarding the recovery, preservation, and final exhibit of the Hunley. We are currently working on a loan agreement between the South Carolina Hunley Commission and Navy.”

Neyland has played a part in the story since the vessel was found in 1995.

“From the fall of 1998 to 2001, I was loaned under the Intergovernmental Personnel Act to the state of South Carolina to oversee the submarine’s recovery and then I continued working there part time until the excavation of the interior and recovery of the crew’s remains was complete.” Neyland said. “Naval History and Heritage Command and Underwater Archaeology has been heavily involved in the project since that time and we are now finishing up a report on the recovery of Hunley.”

And other commands have helped out too.

“Naval Research Laboratory did some materials science research related to the Hunley,” Neyland said, “and during the recovery we needed some security on site and the special boat unit detachment came down and handled security.”

The conservation center submitted a conservation plan to the U.S. Navy in 2006. After peer-review by conservationists around the world, it was finalized incorporating their suggestions.

Now other commands have come to use the Hunley as a research and teaching tool.

“Naval Surface Warfare Center-Carderock Division and Office of Naval Research has been doing a whole series of simulations and studies related to the explosion that sunk the Housatonic and what it would have done to the men inside the Hunley and the Hunley itself,” Neyland said. “They are using some of the same science and technology they use to analyze explosions and the impacts on Navy ships.”

“They can present their findings to people without the classified sticker,” added UA archaeologist Heather Brown. “They can discuss the specifics of the incident and discuss how their models work.”

Though there are many views of what might have caused the vessel to sink with all hands, the reason for its sinking may remain a mystery for some time. There’s no hurry, however, as it is scheduled to take another 8-to-10 years for the vessel to be fully conserved. Concreted materials are slowly being removed from both the inside and outside of the submarine. Now more than 70 percent of the concretion on the outside hull has been removed, leaving more delicate work to be done on the brittle cast iron pieces.

“A lot of the artifacts have been conserved, but the vessel itself is the biggest artifact – completing the deconcretion is now underway,” Neyland said. “Once that is done Clemson University conservators will be able to put it in a caustic solution to remove the corrosive chlorides and the salts. When it comes out of treatment, the solution will be removed with a series of washes and then the submarine will get a protective coating.”

Then there is a question of reassembly.

“If you put everything back together, you can’t see the interior,” Neyland said. “So do you reassemble everything, and use a camera for the inside?”

A place for its ultimate disposition is still being considered.

“The state and city of North Charleston are considering a site for a new museum – probably on land of the former Charleston Navy shipyard,” Neyland said.

He’s looking forward to a road trip sometime in April, in order to see the deconcretion in process and to meet at the Warren Lasch Conservation Center with the Clemson University Restoration Institute’s Hunley scientists and seeing NSWC and ONR scientists’ analysis of the Hunley torpedo explosion.

Interestingly of the presidents who served between ’61 and ’93, only Reagan held office for two full terms:

Ford, Carter and Bush were single-term presidents;

Kennedy was assassinated after 1,000 days in office;

Johnson was elected once and chose not to seek a second term after finishing Kennedy’s term for a total of 5 years, 2 months, and

While Nixon was elected twice, he served less than 18 months into his second term before resigning to avoid almost certain impeachment over his role in the Watergate scandal.

Of the six presidents with sea service, five have had ships named after them: Kennedy (aircraft carrier CVA 67 as well as CVN 79 which has yet to begin construction), Johnson (Zumwalt-class destroyer PCU DDG-1002), Ford (aircraft carrier PCU CVN 78), Carter (submarine SSN 23), and Bush (aircraft carrier CVN 77).

Nixon joins the remaining 20 presidents who have not had ships named after them. Our nation’s first President, for whom President’s Day was originally named, has a record-holding eight ships named Washington, with four between 1775-76, one each in 1798 and 1814, followed by the ballistic nuclear submarine (SSBN 598), decommissioned in 1985, and aircraft carrier CVN 73 commissioned in 1992.

Abraham Lincoln pales in comparison with just three ships: a former German steamer turned transport ship (President Lincoln 1917-18), one sub (SSBN 602), decommissioned in 1981, and Nimitz-class supercarrier (CVN 72), commissioned in 1989.

The following are brief synopsis of each president’s naval career. For more information, please click on the hyperlinks on their names:

President John F. Kennedy (1961-63) was appointed an ensign in the U.S. Naval Reserve in Oct. 1941. Initially he was assigned to the staff of the Office of Naval Intelligence before attending the Naval Reserve Officers Training School from July 27-Sept. 27, 1942. He then entered the Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron Training Center in Rhode Island. Upon his graduation Dec. 2, Lt. j.g. Kennedy was assigned to the Motor Torpedo Squadron 4 as the commanding officer of PT 101. A month later, PT 101 and four other boats were ordered to Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron 14 based at Panama.

Seeking combat duty, Kennedy transferred Feb. 23 as a replacement officer to Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron 2, which was based at Tulagi Island in the Solomons. He took command of PT 109 April 23, 1943.

It was the night of Aug. 1, 1943 when PT 109, with Kennedy at the helm, was run over by the Japanese destroyer Amagiri, cutting the torpedo boat in two. At the impact, Kennedy was thrown into the cockpit where he landed on his back, injured prior to him joining the service.

As some of the survivors clung to pieces of the ship, Kennedy swam to the remaining crew members to bring them back to the floating remnant of PT 109. Two had died during the collision. Kennedy towed one injured crew members as he and the other survivors swam five hours to cover the distance of three miles to an island.

After swimming to Nauru Island, Kennedy and his executive officer found natives. Kennedy wrote a message on a coconut: “11 alive native knows posit & reef Nauru Island Kennedy.” The survivors were rescued by PT 157 on Aug. 8. In September, Kennedy went to Tulagi where he became the skipper of PT 59. In Oct. 1943, Kennedy was promoted to lieutenant and the squadron moved to Vella Lavella.

Due to continued problems with his back, a doctor ordered Kennedy to leave PT 59 Nov. 18, and he returned to the United States in early January 1944. Kennedy would spend much of the rest of his Navy career getting treatment for his back injury. He was released from all active duty and retired from the U.S. Naval Reserve on physical disability in March 1945.

Lyndon B. Johnson (1963-69) had already earned his bachelor’s degree, worked as a school teacher and elected twice to Congress before being appointed as a lieutenant commander in the U.S. Naval Reserve June 21, 1940 at age 32.

He reported for active duty on Dec. 9, 1941 and was assigned to the Office of the Chief of Naval Operations in Washington, D.C. After training, he proceeded to Headquarters, Twelfth Naval District, San Francisco, Calif., for inspection duty in the Pacific.

While stationed in New Zealand and Australia, he worked as an observer of bomber missions in the South Pacific, for which he was later awarded the Army Silver Star Medal.

After President Roosevelt ordered all members of Congress in the Armed Forces to return to their legislative duties, Johnson was released from active duty under honorable conditions June 16, 1942.

Richard M. Nixon (1969-74) joined the Navy at the age of 29 as a lieutenant junior grade in the U.S. Naval Reserve June 15, 1942. A lawyer, he had been working as an attorney for the Office of Emergency Management in Washington, D.C.

Following his appointment, Nixon began aviation indoctrination training at the Naval Training School, Naval Air Station in Quonset Point, R.I. After completing the course in October 1942, he went to the Naval Reserve Aviation Base in Ottumwa, Iowa, where he served as Aide to the Executive Officer until May 1943.

Looking for more excitement, Nixon volunteered for sea duty and reported to Commander, Air Force, U.S. Pacific Fleet where he was assigned as Officer in Charge of the South Pacific Combat Air Transport Command at Guadalcanal in the Solomons and later at Green Island. His unit prepared manifests and flight plans for C-47 operations and supervised the loading and unloading of the cargo aircraft.

For this service he received a Letter of Commendation from the Commander South Pacific Area and South Pacific Force for “meritorious and efficient performance of duty as Officer in Charge of the South Pacific Combat Air Transport Command…” Nixon was promoted to lieutenant Oct. 1, 1943.

From August through December of 1944, Nixon was assigned to Fleet Air Wing 8 at Naval Air Station Alameda, Calif. Then he was transferred to the Bureau of Aeronautics in Washington, D.C, through March 1945. His next assignment as a newly-promoted lieutenant commander, was as the Bureau of Aeronautics Contracting Officer for Terminations in the Office of the Bureau of Aeronautics General Representative, Eastern District, headquartered in New York City. Nixon was released from active duty on March 10, 1946. He was promoted to commander in the Naval Reserve on June 1, 1953.

Gerald R. Ford (1974-76) was preparing to open his law practice at Grand Rapids with a fellow Yale Law School classmate, but the attack on Pearl Harbor changed his plans. Rather than waiting to be drafted, Ford sought to join the Navy.

At age 29 with a law degree, Ford was commissioned as an ensign April 13, 1942. His first duty-station was to attend V-5 instructor school training at Annapolis. His background as a coach and trainer made him a good candidate for instructor in the Navy’s V-5 (aviation cadet) program.

After a month of training, Ford was assigned to the Navy Preflight School in Chapel Hill, N.C., where he taught elementary seamanship, ordnance, gunnery, first aid and military drill. He also coached all nine sports that were offered, but mostly in swimming, boxing and football.

By the time he was assigned to USS Monterey (CVL 26) he had been promoted to lieutenant. While onboard, Ford served as the assistant navigator, athletic officer and antiaircraft battery officer. The carrier helped secure Makin Island in the Gilberts and participated in carrier strikes against Kavieng, New Ireland in 1943. During the spring of 1944, Monterey supported landings at Kwajalein and Eniwetok and participated in carrier strikes in the Marianas, Western Carolines and North New Guiena, as well as the Battle of Philippine Sea. Aircraft from Monterey launched strikes against Wake Island, participated in strikes in the Philippines and Ryukus and supported the landings at Leyte and Mindoro.

Monterey escaped damage by the Japanese, but Mother Nature nearly took out both the ship and future president when Adm. William “Bull” Halsey’s Task Force 38 sailed straight into Typhoon Cobra on Dec. 17-18, 1944. Three destroyers were lost along with 790 men, with another nine warships damaged and 100 planes lost either overboard or by explosion. Monterey was damaged by a fire that started when several of the ship’s aircraft tore loose from their cables and collided during the storm.

After Ford headed for his battle station on the bridge of the ship in the early morning of Dec. 18, the ship rolled 25 degrees, which caused Ford to lose his footing and slide toward the edge of the deck. The two-inch steel ridge around the edge of the carrier slowed him down enough so he could roll and twist into the catwalk below the deck. As he later stated: “I was lucky; I could have easily gone overboard.”

While Monterey underwent repairs at Bremerton, Wash., Ford was detached from the ship and sent to the Athletic Department of the Navy Pre-Flight School, St. Mary’s College, Calif., where he was assigned to the Athletic Department until April 1945. He was then assigned to the staff of the Naval Reserve Training Command, Naval Air Station, Glenview, Ill., as the physical and military training officer, during which time he was promoted to lieutenant commander. He was released from active duty on Feb. 23, 1946.

James Earle Carter (1976-1981) was the fifth consecutive president who had served in the Navy. He is the only president thus far to have graduated from the Naval Academy. After completing the accelerated wartime program, he graduated June 5, 1946 with distinction and obtained his commission as ensign.

For his first duty station, Carter was stationed at Norfolk as radar and CIC officer on USS Wyoming (E-AG 17), an older battleship that had been converted into a floating laboratory for testing new electronics and gunnery equipment. After Wyoming was decommissioned, Carter became Training and Education Officer on USS Mississippi (E-AG 128). After completing two years of surface ship duty, Carter chose to apply for submarine duty. Accepted, he began the six-month course at the U.S. Navy Submarine School, Submarine Base, New London, Conn. from June 14 to Dec. 17, 1948.

Upon completion of the course, Carter reported Dec. 29 to USS Pomfret (SS 391) based at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. During a simulated war patrol, Carter served as communications officer, sonar officer, electronics officer, gunnery officer and supply officer. On March 9, he served as the approach officer for a simulated torpedo firing at target ships, and scored a “hit.” Soon after Carter’s promotion to lieutenant junior grade on June 5, 1949, Pomfret was sent in July to San Diego where the submarine operated along the California coast.

Carter’s next assignment was as engineering officer for the precommissioning detail for USS K-1 (SSK 1), the first postwar submarine built. After K-1’s commissioning on Nov. 10, 1951, Carter served as executive officer, engineering officer, and electronics repair officer. During this tour he also qualified for command of a submarine.

When Adm. Hyman G. Rickover (then a captain) started his program to create nuclear powered submarines, Carter was interviewed and selected for the program by Rickover. Promoted to lieutenant, Carter was sent to the U. S. Atomic Energy Commission, Division of Reactor Development in Schenectady, N.Y. He served a four-month TDY with the Naval Reactors Branch, U. S. Atomic Energy Commission, Washington, D.C. to assist “in the design and development of nuclear propulsion plants for naval vessels.”

As Carter was preparing to become the engineering officer for the nuclear power plant to be placed in USS Seawolf (SSN 575), one of the first submarines to operate on atomic power, his father died in July 1953. Carter resigned from the Navy to return to Georgia to manage the family interests. Carter was honorably discharged on Oct. 9, 1953 at Headquarters, Third Naval District in New York City.

George H.W. Bush (1989-1991) wanted to join the Navy right after Pearl Harbor, but he had to wait six months to graduate high school, enlisting on his 18th birthday June 12, 1942. Ten months later, having graduated pre-flight training at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, Bush was commissioned an ensign in the U.S. Naval Reserve a few days shy of his 19th birthday, making him the youngest naval aviator at the time.

After more flight training, Bush was assigned to Torpedo Squadron (VT-51) as photographic officer in September 1943. As part of Air Group 51, his squadron was based on USS San Jacinto (CVL 30) in the spring of 1944. San Jacinto was part of Task Force 58 that participated in operations against Marcus and Wake Islands in May, and then in the Marianas during June.

On June 19, the task force triumphed in one of the largest air battles of the war. During the return of his aircraft from the mission, Ensign Bush’s aircraft made a forced water landing. The crew was rescued, but the plane was lost in the explosion. On July 25, Ensign Bush and another pilot received credit for sinking a small cargo ship.

After Bush was promoted to lieutenant junior grade on Aug. 1, San Jacinto commenced operations against the Japanese in the Bonin Islands. On Sept. 2, 1944, Bush piloted one of four aircraft from VT-51 that attacked the Japanese installations on Chichi Jima. Encountering intense antiaircraft fire, Bush’s aircraft was hit and his engine caught on fire. He completed his mission and released the bombs over his target scoring several damaging hits.

With his engine on fire, Bush flew several miles from the island, where he and one other crew member on the TBM Avenger bailed out of the aircraft. However, the other man’s chute did not open and he fell to his death. Two other crewmembers were killed in action. While Bush anxiously waited four hours in his inflated raft, several fighters circled protectively overhead until he was rescued by submarine USS Finback (SS 230). During the month he remained on Finback, Bush participated in the rescue of other pilots. Bush returned to San Jacinto in Nov. 1944 and participated in operations in the Philippines.

When San Jacinto returned to Guam, the squadron, which had suffered 50 percent casualties of its pilots, was replaced and sent to the United States. Throughout 1944, Bush had flown 58 combat missions for which he received the Distinguished Flying Cross, three Air Medals, and the Presidential Unit Citation awarded San Jacinto.

Because of his valuable combat experience, Bush was reassigned to Norfolk and put in a training wing for new torpedo pilots. Later, he was assigned as a naval aviator in a new torpedo squadron, VT-153. With the surrender of Japan, he was honorably discharged in September 1945 and then entered Yale University.

USS Maine was built in 1895 as a battleship, but an explosion while in Havana Harbor destroyed the ship and killed 250 crewmembers on Feb. 15, 1898. The explosion created the rallying cry “Remember the Maine!” as newspaper articles urged the United States to go to war against Spain.

By Mass Communication Specialist 1st Class Tim Comerford,

Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

It was a call to arms not unlike “Remember the Alamo” 62 years earlier. While that Texas bravado has endured the decades, memory may falter on a similar outcry: “Remember the Maine!” Or at least why it should be remembered at all.

Unlike the Alamo, in Texas during its fight for independence in 1836, the Maine in this instance was not the state, but a battleship. USS Maine was in a foreign port, Havana, Cuba, in 1898 to protect American citizens when pro-Spanish forces caused riots to break out across the island.

There was good reason for such a show of strength. In the late 1800s Cuba was fighting a vicious battle to free itself from Spain. American sympathies were with the Cubans, a situation made worse when, during the first Cuban insurrection, the Spanish captured the ship Virginius. The Virginius, a freebooter supporting the Cuban revolutionaries, was hired to deliver men and arms to Cubans and was considered by the Spanish to be pirates. They executed 55 of the British and American crewmembers, some of them young boys.

When the second Cuban insurrection began in 1895, Spain sent in Gen. Valeriano “The Butcher” Weyler to serve as governor. Under his rule, thousands of Cubans perished in his reconcentration camps, mostly to disease and starvation, as he sought to separate the insurgents from civilians. As the situation worsened, the United States sent in Maine to protect its interests.

U.S. Navy diving crew at work on the ship’s wreck, in 1898, seen from aft looking forward. U.S. Naval Historical Center Photograph.

The battleship set out from Florida on Jan. 24, 1898, to Havana, where it stayed moored to the pier. The ship’s commanding officer, Capt. Charles D. Sigsbee, mindful of the trouble on the island, did not allow enlisted Sailors to go ashore. For three weeks Maine was a peacekeeping influence. But Feb. 15, a quiet night in Havana Harbor, the peace was shattered as an explosion rocked Maine, sinking the ship and killing 266 Sailors.

A board of inquiry, after a month in Cuba, came back with their verdict – a mine detonated under the ship. Though no blame was fixed for the mine, it set loose a rallying call to “Remember the Maine!” by journalists seeking to influence America to get involved in a war with Spain.

On April 11, President William McKinley asked Congress to end the fighting between the Spanish and insurgents and establish a stable government. Congress passed a joint resolution April 20 acknowledging Cuba’s independence and began a blockade into Cuba’s harbors. Spain followed with a declaration of war on April 23. The Spanish-American War ended with a cease-fire on Aug. 12, 1898, giving Cuba its independence.

A glass plate slide of the wreck of the Maine, raised 1912, from the estate of Lt. C.J. Dutreaux. NHHC photo

Years after the Spanish-American War, in 1912, the wreck of the ship was cleared to facilitate an additional investigation into the cause of her sinking. Her remains were subsequently scuttled in deep waters north of Havana, but parts of her can still be found across the country today. Dozens of artifacts from the ship proudly bear marks of their heritage.

A 6-inch, 30 caliber gun from the battleship USS Maine is on display in Willard Park at the Washington Navy Yard.

Navy / Military kept items

Ship’s Mainmast and Anchor at Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, Va.

Foremast, a Life Preserver, two Port Hole Covers, Log Glass, Keys to the Magazines, an Electric Light Bulb and Shade, a Bugle, a 1888 Penny from Sigsbee’s desk, Sigsbee’s ink well, and Sigsbee’s Binoculars at the U.S. Naval Academy, Annapolis, Md.

Union Jack at Hampton Roads Naval Museum, Norfolk, Va.

Museum kept items

Stern Scrollwork Nameplate at the Museum of American History, Washington D.C.

A Deck Plate Key, Two Capstan Gears, A Capstan, Part of the Starboard Quarter Boat Davits, A Piece of Worm Drive, and a Metal Fragment at the Rutherford B. Hayes Presidential Center, Fremont, Ohio

Sigsbee’s Bathtub from the Ship at the Hancock Historical Museum, Findlay, Ohio

A Bolt at the Museum of History, Raleigh, N.C.

Iron Hooks at the Miami Valley Military History Museum, Dayton, Ohio

Government kept items

Anchor Chain Hooks in Newton, Mass.

A Shell in Easton, Penn.

A Bow Anchor in Reading, Penn.

A Torpedo Tube in Pittsburgh, Penn.

Two Portholes and a 10-inch Shell in Scranton, Penn.

A Bowscroll in Bangor, Maine

The Conning Tower Base in Canton, Ohio

A Capstan in Charleston, S.C.

A Capstan in Butte, Mont.

A Gun Port in Oakland, Calif.

A Ventilator Cowl in Los Angeles, Calif.

A Worm Gear in Sacramento, Calif.

A 6-inch Gun in Alpena, Mich.

A 6-inch Gun (Barrel Only) in Portland, Maine

A Six-pounder Gun in Columbia, S.C.

A One-pounder Gun in Milford, Maine

A 10-inch Turret Sighting Hood in Key West, Fla.

A Ventilator Cowl in Woburn, Mass.

A Ventilator Cowl in Rock Island, Ill.

The Ship’s Silver Service in Augusta, Maine

A Steam Whistle in Larchmont, N.Y.

A 10-inch Shell in Port Chesters, N.Y.

An Engine Room Funnel in Pompton Lakes, N.J.

Also 28 bronze plaques made from the metal of the battleship are spread out throughout the country.

A website that tries to track parts of the Maine, www.spanamwar.com, has a laundry list of the battleship’s parts and where they reside.

From Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

There were no boxes of chocolates or roses for the crew of USS Constitution as Valentine’s Day rolled around in 1814. But when the day was over, they were awash with lumber, fish, and flour – spoils from an engagement with a British merchantman named Lovely Ann.

On that Feb. 14, USS Constitution’s wooden hull was a figuratively green whippersnapper, a mere 17 years old. President George Washington named the 44-gun frigate that had been ordered through the Naval Act of 1794. The heavy frigate was launched in 1797 and remains the oldest commissioned ship in the world that can still sail under its own power. She is soon to go into dry dock in Boston for a scheduled maintenance and upkeep.

A veteran of both the Quasi War with the French and the First Barbary War, Constitution’s greatest glory came during the War of 1812. It was during the two-and-one-half year conflict she made five cruises and captured, burned or sent in as prizes nine merchantmen and five ships of war, most notably the British warship HMS Guerriere.

Under the command of Capt. Isaac Hull, it was that engagement where Constitution earned her the nickname “Old Ironsides,” because Guerriere’s cannon balls glanced off her hull during the Aug. 19, 1812 battle. Guerriere was scuttled the next day. The victory made Constitution the rock star of her day and thus began more than two centuries of public adoration for the three-masted frigate.

By the time Feb. 14, 1814 rolled around, Capt. Charles Stewart was Constitution’s 10th captain and they were sailing along the northern coast of South America. That morning, Constitution’s crew spotted the British schooner HMS Pictou off the coast of Barbados. The schooner was escorting the armed merchant ship Lovely Ann hauling a cargo of lumber, fish, and flour.

After an hour long chase, Constitution passed Pictou on her starboard side and fired. Her deck and main mast were destroyed within minutes. Stewart realized Pictou was sinking and ordered his men to rescue the British sailors. After the Pictou’s men were saved, they captured the Lovely Ann and hours later the crew of the Constitution celebrated with food and wine. The engagement between Constitution and Lovely Ann may have been brief, but well worth celebrating on that Valentine’s Day of 1814.

By Joshua L. Wick, Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

For eight days in the beginning of February 1945, President Franklin D. Roosevelt, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, and Soviet Premier Josef Stalin convened one of the most secretive meetings of modern times.

The decisions that came from this intense conference set in motion some of the major events of the next century that would shape the U.S Navy and the world. And even today questions remain, what was the real price of the decisions made at the conference? Did they cost our country and the world more than they gave in return?

The president relied heavily on the Navy for getting him safely and quietly to high-level meetings and conferences during World War II. Roosevelt and Churchill had met secretly in August 1941 aboard USS Augusta off the coast of Newfoundland. It was aboard the ship the two forged a strong alliance and developed the premise of a pact they hoped would be agreed upon by the League of Nations: to “respect the right of all peoples to choose the form of government under which they will live; and they wish to see sovereign rights and self-government restored to those who have been forcibly deprived of them.”

Franklin D. Roosevelt at Malta on the USS Quincy with his Chiefs of Staff. Left to right: Admiral Leahy,Admiral King, FDR, General Marshall, and L.S. Kuter (Gen. Arnold’s representative).

This was also the case with Yalta. USS Quincy (CA 71) was tasked with transporting the ailing president to the Russian resort city on the Crimean peninsula.

President Roosevelt and his party embarked aboard the Baltimore-class heavy cruiser at Newport News, Va., on Jan. 23, 1945, for passage to Malta in southern Europe, arriving Feb. 2. Roosevelt then departed Quincy and continued on to the Crimea by air.

Once all the leaders were gathered in Yalta, the discussion, bargaining and debating began for the second conference of World War II. The first had been the highly secret meeting in 1943 between the “Big Three” in Tehran where they agreed to a military operation that would eventually become the Invasion of Normandy or Operation Overlord.

The Yalta Conference was to take the blueprint of the Atlantic Conference and hammer in the details. As with most international conferences, the leaders and their entourages had their own agendas, goals, cultural and political differences. With Germany’s surrender expected, their focus was on post-war reorganization, reestablishment of a war-torn Europe and how best to enforce the reparation and demilitarization of Germany.

Article II of the conference stated: To foster the conditions in which the liberated people may exercise these rights, the three governments will jointly assist the people in any European liberated state or former Axis state in Europe where, in their judgment conditions require,

(a) to establish conditions of internal peace;

(b) to carry out emergency relief measures for the relief of distressed peoples;

(c) to form interim governmental authorities broadly representative of all democratic elements in the population and pledged to the earliest possible establishment through free elections of Governments responsive to the will of the people; and

Though they each had their own issues, they all wanted the unconditional surrender of Germany. Roosevelt sought agreement and establishment for his “United Nations” and for the need of military support for the ongoing war in the Pacific theater. The fate of Eastern Europe, especially Germany’s division and Poland’s borders, were the main bargaining chips for “The Big Three.”

The level of corporation required from the conference was unprecedented. The Soviet Union agreed to join the Allies in the war against Japan with two caveats: the Mongolian People’s Republic would be preserved and territories in the southern part of Sakhalin that had been taken by Japan in 1904 would be returned to the Soviet Union, along with the Kurile Islands. The commercial port of Dairen would be internationalized, allowing Soviet interests and the ability to lease property for a base at Port Arthur.

Roosevelt got Stalin’s agreement in the Pacific, but Stalin appeared to be running the show.

Expectations were high but short-lived as history proved when the players on the field suddenly shifted. Only a few weeks after the Yalta Conference, President Roosevelt died at his “Little White House” at Warm Springs, Ga. He had served an unprecedented 12 years in office and had just started his fourth term that would have seen him through the reconstruction of Europe after World War II, and to some degree, keeping Stalin reined in.

While Stalin and Roosevelt were able to come to terms despite huge differences in philosophy, that was not the case with Roosevelt’s successor, President Harry S. Truman. As he agreed with the Yalta Conference, Stalin did throw his support against Japan, another factor that led to Japan’s surrender. An interesting historic side note is that USS Quincy, the cruiser that carried Roosevelt to the Yalta Conference, was among the flotilla of ships in Tokyo Bay on Sept. 2, 1945, for the Japanese surrender.

But the end of the war also signified the end of Stalin’s cooperation. Agreements made during the Yalta Conference, based on the premise of “the right of all peoples to choose the form of government under which they will live,” didn’t apply to the border countries within the Soviet Union’s Eastern bloc of nations.

Luckily for Roosevelt, he never witnessed the erasing of the lines they drew at Yalta so the Eastern European countries could retain their sovereignty. As the Soviet Union expanded borders further west and more nations were integrated into Stalin’s communist government, the Iron Curtain separated the East from the West.

In the end, what came from Yalta sparked the military, economic, scientific, political, and ideological start of the Cold War. Once again for nearly 45 years, America’s Navy was on the front lines of the cat and mouse games in the high-stakes Cold War conflict.

The comfort of 70 years of hindsight make it possible for us to look critically at the decisions made at Yalta and the policies that followed, but perhaps the most important question is what could have realistically been done differently?

PCU Washington (BB 47), a 32,600-ton Colorado class battleship, was under construction at Camden, N.J., when the Washington naval limitations treaty was signed Feb. 6, 1922. Launched in September 1921, the battleship was nearly 76 percent completed when construction ceased Feb. 8, 1922. Since the treaty prohibited her completion, Washington was subsequently used for tests of weapons effects and warship protection. Her hulk was sunk as a gunnery target in November 1924. Naval History and Heritage Command Photo

From Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

If Theodore Roosevelt could spin in his grave, no doubt the former president was a whirling dervish in his crypt Feb. 6, 1922. It was that date 93 years ago when the Washington Naval Treaty was signed, limiting the frenetic Roosevelt’s beloved Navy to no more than 500,000 tons.

Also known as the Five-Power Treaty, there was sound reason behind it. Following the aftermath of World War I, some nations were a bit reluctant to stop their war-time build-up of armament, and of particular concern was Japan.

With Congress pushing to end any escalating of warships and armaments – especially between the United States, Great Britain and Japan – Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes invited nine nations to the table at what would be called the Washington Naval Conference that began Nov. 12, 1921. The countries involved were the U.S., Great Britain, Japan, France, Italy, Belgium, China, the Netherlands and Portugal.

By Feb. 6, 1922, when the conference ended, three major treaties were signed, all named for the level of participation: Four-Power, Five-Power and Nine-Power. Two of them reflected the wariness both the United States and Great Britain had concerning Japan’s continued military build-up and interest in expanding beyond its borders.

The Four-Power Treaty between the U.S., France, Britain and Japan replaced the Anglo-Japanese Treaty of 1902 between Japan and Great Britain. Should a conflict arise between the United States and Japan, the 1902 treaty would have obligated Great Britain to side with Japan.

The new 1922 pact dictated the four countries would consult each other should a conflict develop between any of them, obligating none to side with the other.

The Nine-Power Treaty invited seven other countries to partake in the party that was the U.S. Open Door Policy in China: equal opportunity for all nations wishing to do business there, with China promising not to discriminate against the other nations. But the treaty also ensured all those who signed the agreement would recognize China’s territorial boundaries, including Japan’s dominance in Manchuria.

Japan and China agreed to their own bilateral pact that returned the Shandong province and railroad to China that Japan had liberated from the Germans during World War I, and Japanese troops would withdraw from Siberia.

“Red Lead Row” at the San Diego Destroyer Base, Calif. photographed at the end of 1922, with at least 65 destroyers tied up there. The overwhelming majority of them were among the Clemson-class of destroyers which were removed from service due to the Washington Naval Treaty of 1922. Many of these destroyers were later used to beef up the Navy of the United Kingdom as part of the Destroyers for Bases program. NHHC photo

The Five-Power Treaty was highly successful as a compromise, since no one was entirely happy with the results. Japan and the United States each wanted a greater ratio of warships and all three nations sought the ability to expand their own Pacific fortifications.

Great Britain and the United States each were allowed 500,000 tons of warships because both countries had colonies flung across two oceans; Japan was held to 300,000 tons and France and Italy each had 175,000 tons, or a 5:5:3:1.75:1.75 ratio.

Japan had sought a greater percentage in the top three ratios at 10:10:7, while the United States, wary of Japan’s growing militarism, wanted a 10:10:5 ratio.

At the time of the treaty, the Navy had commissioned three of the four planned 32,600-ton displacing battleships: Colorado (BB 45), Maryland (BB 46) and West Virginia (BB 48). If you’ve never heard of the fourth, well, that’s because PCU Washington (BB 47), although 75 percent completed, was cancelled to keep the United States in compliance with the new limitations of the Five-Power Treaty. Six more battleships either in planning or building mode were also scrapped: South Dakota (BB 49), Indiana (BB 50), Montana (BB 51), North Carolina (BB 52), Iowa (BB 53) and Massachusetts (BB 54).

The United States tried to affect world disarmament by example, allowing the Navy’s fleet of warships to drop well below even the standards of the original 1922 treaty. It was a lofty idea that never caught on and resulted in “a rapid decline in the strength of our Navy between 1922 and 1930,” according to the 1944 legislative document Decline and Renaissance of the Navy 1922-1944 by Sen. David I. Walsh (D-Mass.), chairman of the Senate Naval Affairs Committee.

Since surface warfare ships under 1,800 pounds weren’t mentioned in the 1922 treaty, armament on destroyers would become the loophole. The United States, however, was awash in destroyers, with all 267 of the Wickes-Clemson-class destroyers built by 1922. To meet the standards of the treaty, many of those flush-deck, four-stack destroyers were either converted to minesweepers, mothballed or sold to other nations.

A revision during the London Naval Treaty of 1930 between the same countries closed that loophole, regulating “surface vessels of war” that weighed less than 1,850 tons with “guns not above 5.1-inch (130 mm), according to Ship’s Data for U.S. Naval Vessels. By the time of the third revision, the Second London Naval Treaty of 1936, was being held, Japan declared it would no longer abide by the terms of the treaty and Italy also was secretly disregarding it.

As the United States was willingly allowing its naval fleet to fall below readiness standards, another Roosevelt was making his mark. Just like his uncle before him, Franklin D. Roosevelt had a soft spot for the U.S. Navy, having served as Under Secretary to the Navy. After taking office in March 1933, FDR believed the sea service needed to increase its strength at least to the Washington Naval Treaty of 1922 limits.

In order to help the nation recover from the Great Depression and give the Navy a boost, Roosevelt pushed through Congress the National Industrial Recovery Act (NIRA) in 1933. Of the $3.3 billion appropriated, $237 million was set aside to construct Navy warships to help improve the economy with increased employment. The Navy responded by contracting to build 20 destroyers, four submarines, four light cruisers and two aircraft carriers.

As rumblings of aggression began again in Europe and Asia, and with both Japan and Italy openly violating the Washington Naval Treaty, President Roosevelt would embark on the long road to rebuild the U.S. Navy through the Naval Expansion Acts of 1934, 1938 and 1940, followed a few days later by the Two-Ocean Navy Act.

Broadside view of PCU Washington (BB 47) at the New York Shipyard April 5, 1922. Naval History and Heritage Command photo

The Washington Naval Treaty, despite hampering the U.S. Navy in maintaining a ready fleet to operate forward across two oceans, did have its silver lining. Two years after the treaty was signed, the nearly-completed hulk of PCU Washington was hauled out to sea and sunk by USS Texas (BB 35) and New York (BB 34) as a test target.

The test would prove there wasn’t enough deck armor on the super-dreadnought and so future battleships – commissioned between 1941-44 — included triple armor plating on the hull: North Carolina (BB 59), Washington (BB 56), South Dakota (BB 57), Indiana (BB 58), Massachusetts (BB 59), Alabama (BB 60), Iowa (BB 61), New Jersey (BB 62), Missouri (BB 53) and Wisconsin (BB 64). All would survive World War II. Of the nine battleships hit during the attack on Pearl Harbor, only three could not be salvaged: Utah (AG-16 formerly BB 31), Oklahoma (BB 37) and Arizona (BB 39), all built before the triple-plating.

The Evergreen State would finally get another ship named for it when the up-armored USS Washington (BB 56), a North Carolina-class fast battleship, was commissioned May 1941, weighing in at 35,000 tons at the cost of around $60 million. After serving throughout World War II, she was decommissioned in 1947 and sold for scrap in 1961.